


Everything You Want

by Becks_Rylynn



Series: Everything You Want 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use, F/M, Heavy Angst, Horror, Implied/Referenced Torture, Infidelity, Mentions of past child death, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Ruby (Katie Cassidy), Ruby is an ally not an enemy, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 108,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becks_Rylynn/pseuds/Becks_Rylynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The return of someone from his past sends Dean into a tailspin as he begins to question his relationship with Lisa. While he finds himself torn between the woman who could give him everything he supposedly wants and the woman who knows his heart to an uncomfortable degree, Lisa desperately clings to the remaining threads of their delicate relationship and Ruby unknowingly begins to snip away at the fragile strings. Meanwhile, Ruby finds herself trapped in a deadly game of cat and mouse with the King of Hell. And he's willing to do anything to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: The working title for this fic was once 'Have you accepted Ruby as your Lord and savior?'

**Chapter One**

_tell me we'll never get used to it_

.

.

.

_''Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake_  
_and dress them in warm clothes again.''_   
**\- scheherazade**

.

.

.

''It's always gonna be there, isn't it?''

''What?''

''Us. Me and you. We'll always be unfinished. Undiscovered. And we'll always end up here. Won't we? Won't we?''

.

.

.

They began and ended like a flower and a weed. Though they could never fully figure out who was the flower and who was the weed. They were a silvery mess of strings to pull and tug and bite, a garden of _couldn't_ and _shouldn't_ and _wantwantwant._ She swallowed his breath and he swallowed hers in the back of his car with the windows fogged up so no one could see. It went on for months and then the sky fell before they could even really begin; before they could admit to themselves that maybe it was more than sweat and sex and the blood that bloomed from when she scraped her fingernails down his back and he bit down on her lip.

She died and he followed. Like Romeo and Juliet.

Only not.

.

.

.

Then she came back. And she came back _wrong._ All wrong. He came back next, through dirt and flames and an angel's wings. (One could argue he came back wrong, too. He certainly didn't feel right.) He came back, she lied through her teeth and cut her wrists for Sam and then she died with a smirk on her un-glossed lips and her eyes on Sam.

But.

_But._

.

.

.

The world didn't end.

Dean went to Lisa.

Because Lisa was perfect and normal and _so beautiful_ and there was no one else. Not anymore.

.

.

.

Dean goes to Lisa because he loves her. (A truth, but not the whole truth.)

Dean goes to Lisa because she will always be a terrible liar and Ben likes classic rock, and Dean has always been a conspiracy theorist at heart. (Fact.)

.

.

.

Crowley believes he is playing Dominoes. It's a game of strategy and destruction. You set them up, apply the right amount of pressure and they all fall down. He has always enjoyed nice, clean destruction, after all.

''I have always admired your strength, darling,'' he tells her after he has brought her back to the top, brushing hair out of her shadowed eyes. ''Not one but two stints down under and you're still clinging to that fractured, broken soul of yours. It all makes sense, no? Why you're so attached to that boy. You're a lot alike, you two. Weak, broken, damaged, eternally flawed.''

Trembling and trying to remember how to forget, she shakes dirty, unwashed hair out of her stinging eyes and scowls at him with shaking lips. ''Fuck off.''

.

.

.

That's the thing about resurrection, you see. It's _unpredictable._ No matter who does the resurrecting. Sometimes you come back less than you were. Sometimes you come back more. It all depends on how you look at the black eyes. But you always come back broken and cracked like a shattered glass. That's non-negotiable.

.

.

.

A year passes and Dean believes he has fallen in love with the perfect woman who has stitched him back together with a needle and a thread and scotch and whiskey and a tired lullaby.

And then Sam comes home.

In the grand scheme of things, that's about the most unsurprising thing of all of the _things_ that follow. Sam comes home. Well, duh. That's how the story ends, is it not? Sam comes home, Dean comes home, Sam comes home and on and on and on and on until they're shells. They are Sam and Dean. They are puzzle pieces. Apart they are unimportant, unnecessary and awkward pieces that don't fit right anywhere else. Together they create pictures of family and love and happiness and devotion. At least that's what he would like to believe.

Sam comes home.

So, what else is new?

Well, for starters: He doesn't come alone.

.

.

.

She has to pass a lot of tests with Sam.

It takes a long time for him to trust her, to believe that whoever it was that fed him blood and got him started on this whole 'path of destruction' thing, it wasn't her. She's not going to insult him by lying to him; she did have plans back then. She'll admit that. But she had _better_ plans. She always has better plans. They should have known that. How offensive for them to think she was pathetic enough to get him addicted to demon blood. What a foolish play. What kind of piss poor plan would that have been?

Eventually, he trusts her enough to save her life when she's in danger. Unfortunately, he also trusts the Campbell 'family.' A truly useless bunch. She's pretty sure they're just cheap weapons that hold no value. Maybe that's why she doesn't like them. Or maybe it's the way they treat her. They're wary of her. She gets that. She'd be wary of her, too. But they watch her with narrowed judgmental eyes, make their not-so-subtle little digs, and she'd fight back, defend herself, but she's too tired. Besides, their childish bullying tactics actually wind up working in her favor. Sam's stoicism is fake and she's sure she can see sanity bleeding out of his eyes as memories of Hell worm their way back into his muddled brain. But he is still Sam. Still her good boy. When it comes to the Campbells, he forms a wall in front of her like he can tell that she's damaged and tired and doesn't need this crap just by looking at her. She's grateful for that.

She honestly can't be bothered to remember their names because they mean nothing to her, so she gives them cruel nicknames to tell them apart and hopes that they sting when she uses them just like their judgment pricks her until she bleeds. There's Old Man, Loudmouth, Creepster (and that guy is giving off some serious demonic vibes too; she wonders if Old Man knows about that) and Scruffy and Silent. Out of all of them, Scruffy and Silent is the only one who she doesn't want to kill. Mostly because she's not kidding about that Silent part. Unlike the others, he keeps his distance and stays quiet and he doesn't look at her like the others do, but he looks at her all the same.

He catches her elbow one night when her skin is crawling from Creepy's stare. ''We're not all bad,'' he says softly. It's the first time she's ever heard his voice and it makes something stir inside of her.

She stays stony, jerks her arm out of his grasp and breathes. ''Prove it.''

.

.

.

She'll never admit it but at night, she watches Dean from behind leaves and shadows. Want and longing and the _couldn't_ and _shouldn't_ start in her stomach, go up and down and make her head pound. It hurts more than she thought it would when she sees Dean with his family. It's not _supposed_ to hurt.

One night, she makes it as far as the door and breathes along with the sound of her heartbeat. Her fingers graze the door and she swallows. What a strange little life he's made for himself here; pretending he's normal, that he doesn't ache the way she aches. It's a lie; a watercolor liable to be washed away, to be wiped out and erased. This is not a real life. But it's where he has chosen to rest. Despite herself, she hopes he is happy here, in this picture perfect world where nothing is wrong and there is no blood standing the sheets.

Perhaps, one day, she could have her own little lie of a life. She closes her eyes. That is why she's different from the others. She wants this all so badly. A home, a partner, comfort, safety, family, love. She would like so much to be real.

There is heat somewhere close by yet far away and a twisting in her stomach and her fingers prickle with electricity. She realizes just in time what that means. She pulls away with a gasp, whirls around and she's gone when he opens the door with hopeful eyes.

.

.

.

Dean feels a pull one night. Like gravity. A _warning_. He checks the Devil's Trap under the rug, feels the leftover burn from his scotch, and gravity still holds him tight in its grip. He holds onto the doorknob loosely and tries to breathe. There is something just out of his reach. Something important. Something that he needs. He doesn't know what he's hoping to find when he flings open the door, but he's hoping for something and all he gets is crushing disappointment.

Story of his life.

.

.

.

It still comes down to flowers and weeds, you know.

She's the weed. Lisa's the flower. And this isn't a fairytale. She's not the ugly duckling who turns into a swan. She can't be the nerd who takes off her glasses and suddenly she's hot. That's a damn lie. Life is not like that. Life is never like that. She can't be _saved_ by love. This isn't a movie or a story or a half baked notion of love. This is life, and life doesn't have those kinds of endings, okay? It just doesn't. Life has flowers and weeds. Lisa is the flower who blooms bright and beautiful, Ruby is the unneeded weed who shrivels into the dirt and Dean is the soldier who steps on them both on his way to the sun.

Caught between a flower and a weed...

...nobody ever picks the weed.

(She doesn't think that's how it should work, anyway.)

.

.

.

One day, Ruby walks in with a, ''Hey, Sam, I'm - '' and then stops short when she looks up. ''Oh,'' she startles, recovers like it's no big deal and smirks. ''Hey, Dean. Don't you look old.'' She grimaces in disgust, puts a hand on her hip and scoffs at him while he stares at her with eyes that don't believe. ''Oh, for God's sake, untuck your shirt. You look like an asshole.''

.

.

.

Dean's head is still spinning with confusion and doubt and suspicion when it happens. He's doing his best to wrap his mind around Samuel and the Campbells and he desperately wants to wrap his arms around Sam to make sure this is real and not a dream that he's had before. Because he has, you know. Had this dream where Sam comes back. It always ends with cruel taunts and gasps for air as he either jolts himself out of his nightmare or is pulled out by Lisa. His body is angled toward Sam, his eyes, glittering with distrust, are raking over the Campbells, he's swimming in racing thoughts, and then _she_ walks in.

Later, he'll wonder why he was surprised.

She always did have a flair for the overdramatic entrances. He remembers that so clearly, so vividly. He remembers the way she commanded the world before he remembers her betrayal sometimes. He's never told anyone that. She struts in like she owns the place, hair pulled up into a ponytail, lips twisted into a frown, eyes on the cell phone held loosely in her hand. ''Hey, Sam, I'm - ''

She stops when she looks up and when her eyes meet his startled ones, he suddenly feels like he has been punched in the gut. Those _eyes._ He remembers those eyes. They used to burn right through him like torches. He has to take a step back. She composes herself impossibly quickly with an easy smile that flicks on a light switch in her eyes. But don't think for a second that he missed that deer-in-headlights look. He saw it just fine. She got those damned flashbacks too, didn't she? Those flashes of fragments from before with bodies in the backseat and skin under fingertips.

He finds himself suddenly remembering exactly what her skin feels like under his hands.

The air thins.

''Oh,'' she says. ''Hey, Dean. Don't you look old.'' She stares at him reproachfully with her hand on her hip and her eyes narrowed. ''Oh, for God's sake, untuck your shirt. You look like an asshole.''

He is actually incredibly offended by that. He may be out of the game he's never really wanted to play, but when it comes to her he's still got those cat-like reflexes that always end with his hand around her neck and her back against a wall. It is no different this time. It has been a long time since he's done this dance, but he still remembers the steps just fine.

.

.

.

''The whole time?''

''Yep.''

''For a year?''

''Yep.''

''It was never really her?''

''Nope.''

''And you believe her?''

''I do.''

''...Sam?''

''Hmm?''

''Have you lost your fucking mind?''

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean catches Ruby's offended glare and hears her little hiss, and it excites something in him that he thought had died a long time ago. He doesn't appreciate that. She's messing with his stable predictability. ''For fuck's sake, kid, she's lying! That's what she does. She _lies_ , Sam. That's all she's ever done.'' Apparently, a lover's betrayal is a cut that cannot be healed and he is not quite as over it as he first fucking suspected.

''Dean,'' Ruby laughs a strange little laugh that seems to get lost somewhere in her throat and for a second, Dean wonders if he has actually hurt her. ''If I was going to do something evil, don't you think I would have done it by now? I've been back for a year. All alone. With your brother. With precious little Sammy who didn't have a heroic Batman brother to save him from himself. Get over yourself,'' she snaps. ''Even if I did have a diabolical master plan to end all diabolical master plans, I wouldn't waste it on the morons who believed idiot demon bitch was me for a year. Still bitter about that, by the way.''

Dean blinks at her and before he even realizes what he's doing, he's smirking at her. ''I can see that.''

''Go screw yourself, short bus.''

''Short bus? Haven't you already used that one on me?'' He gasps and points a finger at her. ''Are you _re-using_ insults on me, woman? I find that highly offensive.''

''Don't call me woman.''

''Uh, guys?'' Sam looks hesitant as he positions himself in between them, sighing impatiently. ''You do realize that if you two start this you'll never stop, right?''

Dean is the first to back down, slinking away from Ruby like she's the Devil Incarnate. He realizes if he keeps doing this with her, he'll fall into a pattern once again. A familiar pattern that cannot exist anymore. For a lot of reasons. ''Why are you trusting her?'' He asks lowly. ''Don't you remember the last time you decided to trust Ruby?''

''That wasn't Ruby,'' Sam explains patiently. His soft monotone is really starting to aggravate Dean. Why is no one else upset about this?

''So she says,'' he snorts. When Ruby opens her mouth to say something most likely vile and tasteless, Sam shoots her a pleading look and she wires her jaw shut. Bitter, Dean can't help but allow his lips to twist into a particularly mean looking sneer. ''Aw. He's even got you house trained.''

''Don't be a dick, Dean,'' Sam bites out. ''She passed all the tests. I have no reason not to trust her.''

Really, Sam? You don't? _You don't?_

''What tests?''

Sam presses his lips together and finds the floor incredibly entertaining all of a sudden. ''She just told me some... _stuff_ that only she would know.''

''Like what? What stuff? What stuff did she talk about? What could she possibly...?'' Oh. _Oh._ Dean's eyes widen in horror and he slowly turns around to face Ruby, who is grinning from ear to ear looking like the cat that got the canary. ''What did you tell him?'' He snarls out.

That old familiar smirk splays itself across her lips like a ribbon. ''Oh, lots of things. Locations of birthmarks. Scars. That little sound you make in the back of your throat when someone's suck -''

''Ew, ew, _ew_ ,'' Sam grumbles. ''Stop.''

She frowns suddenly and pushes herself off the wall. ''I think the real question is why didn't _you_ tell him?''

Dean stiffens and tries to shrug nonchalantly. ''Nothin' to tell.''

''Really? Sure you weren't just ashamed of me?''

Something in him snaps just like that and he finds himself filled with the need to hurt her like he pretended she didn't hurt him. He smiles at her, tilts his head to the side and brushes hair out of her face, which seems to startle her greatly. ''Oh, _honey_. Of course I was ashamed of you.'' This time he _knows_ he's hurt her. Well, good. He hopes it stings. For a brief second, she rears back like she has been physically assaulted and the second he sees that look in her eyes, he knows he has gone way too far.

''Dean,'' Sam murmurs, and he sounds so disappointed that it literally pinches and pricks at Dean's flesh.

Ruby, like most people, doesn't like being humiliated. Dean learns that when she decides to humiliate him right back. As always, she doesn't play fair. Her fingers curl around the collar of his shirt and he thinks she's going to slam him into a wall and invoke terrible violence on him. She doesn't. Nope. It's a totally different kind of torture she inflicts upon him in the next several seconds. She yanks him towards her and crushes her lips onto his roughly. Instantly, those newly installed chimes go off in his head that scream, _Hello!_ _You're in a monogamous relationship with Lisa! LisaLisaLisa, Dean!_ But his body's response is another story. Blood and tingles and sparks and flames make wildfires and his hand comes up to her cheek and - oops, he kisses her back for a second there.

She pulls away abruptly and shoves him away from her with enough strength to make him stumble backwards. She looks at him with empty eyes and he stares at her in either horror or wonder. Currently, he can't decide which. Calmly, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and smoothes down her shirt. ''There,'' she rasps out breathlessly. ''There's your fucking proof. Oh, and also?'' She steps forwards and he sees her hand clenching into a fist but there's really nothing he can do before she punches him with enough pent up hurt and anger and demonic super strength to send him to the floor. ''I like your shirt better untucked. You look like a domesticated - and also slightly constipated - truck driver like this.'' She gives him one more look that makes him feel like a bug and then she spins on her heel to go because she also has a thing for dramatic exits.

''I like your hair better down,'' he counters.

He says it so softly that he's so sure she won't hear him. But she stops in the doorway with her hand on the doorframe and for about a second, she turns her head ever so slightly. He thinks she'll turn back around to face him. Instead, she squares her shoulders and leaves him behind. It's what she's good at.

Sam whistles. ''I think you really hurt her feelings. You know,'' he lowers his voice. ''Sometimes I think you're the only one who really can. Why do you do that?''

Dean's jaw twitches and his head pounds as he rises to his feet. _Because she hurt me first,_ is what he'll never say. Right. Except...it wasn't really her. ''It's not my fault she's such an easy target,'' he says instead.

Sam shakes his head. ''And they're back.''

.

.

.

She didn't mean to let him hurt her that much. She didn't mean to let him hurt her at all.

Ruby bursts out into the cool night air, her strangled breaths losing themselves in her closing throat. Dean has always had a way of pushing her to the brink. He pushes, she pulls and then they both nip and punch and kick at each other until there's nothing left but blood.

Once upon a time, they had a twisted story of wants and needs, she'll acknowledge it was twisted. Of course it was. But it, like so many other things _didn't_ , made them feel. Back then, that was something to cling to.

In the starlight, Ruby gasps in a breath and has to lean heavily against Sam's stupid car to stay upright. She's trembling, just a little bit, enough to blame on the cool weather and her lips are still tingling. She's not sure she'll ever manage to get them to stop. She gulps in a few much needed breaths of air and then buries her face in her hands so she can reapply her mask that has somehow slipped off.

''I'm gonna take a wild guess and say there's some history between you two.''

She looks up sharply and her eyes fall on the Campbell leaning against the wall. That is the most words she has ever heard him say. ''How long have you been standing there?'' When he shrugs and moves to stand next to her, she tenses for half a second before relaxing. If he notices her trembling - and she's sure he does - he doesn't say anything. ''It's nothing,'' she says at last, voice quiet. ''He's nothing.'' That's a lie. He's something all right. He's something fiery and passionate that she can't even begin to describe. What he means to her is a whole other can of worms she can't bring herself to close completely. She folds her arms over her chest and sends him a curious look.

Mark. She remembers his name is Mark. She'll have to hold onto that.

''Why are you here? Wouldn't things be easier for you if you hated me like the rest of your family does?''

Something begins to spread over his lips slowly. What is that? A smile? ''This may be news to you,'' he says in a quiet monotone. ''But we don't actually share a brain.''

She chuckles and looks up at the stars. They sparkle and shine like Dean's eyes when he smiles. She still hates that she remembers that. It's a secret she will never admit to anyone, but clinging to the sight of Dean's sparkly eyes and his smile and the sound of Sam's soothing voice was what got her through Hell the second time. That's her dirty little secret. She looks away from the stars that remind her of his eyes and turns her attention back to Mark. He is the exact opposite of Dean in many ways. He is quite and thoughtful and there is something decidedly sweet underneath all that scruff.

She thinks she'd like to keep him for awhile. He might be _fun._ He might be a good distraction.

''You don't say much,'' she states bluntly, eyeing him carefully. ''Why is that?''

He looks at her like he's looking right through her, and he shrugs. ''It's easier.''

''Easier than what?''

He doesn't answer. Eventually, he pushes off the car, looks down at her with a small smile and tilts his head to the side. ''He was right about one thing.'' His fingers brush away a single loose strand of hair and then he drops his hand like he's afraid to touch her for any longer. ''Your hair looks better down.''

He leaves her there, standing in the moonlight, small smile never dropping off his lips. She stays frozen in her spot, trying to think. When she's alone, she lets out a breath and a quiet laugh escapes her lips. The dull aching from Dean's crushing comments is gone and all she's left with is a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She reaches up to pull her hair free of the ponytail it's in.

.

.

.

It's an accident.

He doesn't mean to stumble across the last little bit of Ruby and that Campbell boy's conversation. He just does. Dean's fingers curl tight around the doorframe when Campbell touches her and he doesn't know why. There is no reason for him to be bothered by this. He has Lisa. Even if he didn't, Ruby would never be... She'd never be his. He doesn't know why his stomach churns and his blood boils at the chemistry between those two.

He just knows he really wants Mark Campbell to step back and keep his fucking paws to himself.

And really, Dean? You can't have everything and everyone.

It doesn't work that way.

.

.

.

_''Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us._  
_These, our bodies, possessed by light._  
_Tell me we'll never get used to it.''_   
**\- scheherazade**


	2. Two

**Chapter Two**

_I'm not the dragon_

.

.

.

_'_ _'You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that,_  
_and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy_  
_but tell me you love this, tell me you're not miserable.''_   
**\- seaside improvisation**

.

.

.

Lisa Braeden is one hundred percent head over heels in love with Dean Winchester.

This is something she is certain of. It's one of the _only_ things she is certain of in this uncertain life.

She put him back together after he fell apart like she was constructing a masterpiece, and every masterpiece has flaws, but Dean is wonderful. He is a tapestry woven out of all things strong and fragile and broken and whole. And he is hers. He is great with Ben and he makes her happy. He is lonely and cold and warm and _so beautiful_ and his heart is made out of gold. And he needs her. He does. She's sure of it. He needs her just as much as she needs him. She's the person who sewed him back together with love and warmth after Sam, after all.

She is not the first to fall, she is sure of that too. Countless people from all over have fallen in love with this beautiful man who is terribly, terribly broken and damaged. But she's fine with that because she's the one who has him now. He is her endgame. She wants him to be her endgame. She's just...

She's not sure she's his.

She comes to a gut wrenching realization one sunny Saturday afternoon while she's folding laundry and waiting for Dean to pick up Ben from his friend's house. It's a mundane task and her mind wanders. Her mother always told her she was a daydreamer. She is folding one of Dean's shirts, there is a bloodstain on the left shoulder that won't come out no matter how many times Lisa washes it, and a thought pops into her head so suddenly it makes her gasp and her shaking fingers drop the shirt. She is not the first person to love Dean Winchester and she will not be the last. The realization hurts so much that she winds up crying on the laundry room floor, clutching Dean's shirt, terrified of the day she'll have to let him go.

By the time Dean and Ben get home, she is composed enough to smile weakly when Ben's laughter echoes through the house. Dean frowns when he sees her, cupping her cheek gently. He's always had a knack for calling bullshit. ''Are you okay?''

She smiles what she hopes is a convincing smile and leans into his touch because she doesn't know how long she'll get to feel it. ''I'm just tired,'' she lies smoothly. ''It's been a long day.''

He doesn't believe her. But he kisses her forehead anyway and tells her to go sit down while he makes dinner.

Dean is not a perfect man. He has flaws. A lot of them, actually. But he's a good man. A kind man. He is someone worthy of being Ben's father. Someone who could cut the loneliness she has felt for her entire life. She would be happy growing old with him, loving him, walking down the aisle to him and having more children with him. She would love him, and sometimes he would love her too. It would be a good life. It would be a happy life.

But he won't stay.

.

.

.

''Lisa, Ben, I don't know if you remember - ''

''Sam.''

The bottom drops out.

.

.

.

The second she sees Sam Winchester standing in her living room, she knows that moment she's been dreading has come. That's it. It's over. Dean will go back to his screwed up, co-dependent relationship with his brother and Lisa will be left out in the cold again. That's the way it ends. That's the way -

But then she sees _her._

She glides into the room like a vision of something gorgeous and dark and powerful and Lisa's eyes widen. She can't explain the sudden lurch in her gut, but she knows - she just _knows_ that this is her. This is the woman who broke him. These are the hands that left those invisible handprints all over Dean's heart; the ones only Lisa has been able to see, etched into the shadows in his eyes and the way he is sometimes too hesitant or too rough when he touches her. This is, as cheesy as it sounds, the one that got away. She's prettier than Lisa thought she would be. Don't get her wrong, Lisa knew she'd be beautiful, but this is unexpected. She was expecting someone earthly and jagged, rough like Dean. This woman looks soft somehow, despite the hardened look in her eyes. With her blond hair and sea green eyes, this woman practically _glows._

There is a tense moment of silence when the two women come face to face. Everyone else in the room seems to hold their breaths. The blonde is stone cold when she looks at Lisa, but then her gaze moves to Ben and the seemingly permanent scowl on her lips slips. An undeniable sadness starts in her eyes and makes her entire body deflate. She clutches at Sam's arm and then she looks away.

Sam winces.

Lisa gets the feeling Sam isn't rooting for her to win Dean's heart in the end. That stings a little more than it should.

''Lisa,'' Dean begins evenly, stuck between the two, one hand reaching for her, the other twitching towards Blondie. ''This is...'' He pauses and swallows the sudden nervous tremor in his voice. ''This is Ruby. I don't think you two ever met.''

_Ruby._

She's not sure what to do now. She'll give Dean to his brother, good as new, right and ready, because that is something she cannot fight. She doesn't think anyone can. What lies between those brothers isn't something anyone can fight or get between. It's powerful to the point where it scares her. But Ruby? This spectre standing in her living room, holding Dean's bleeding heart in her hands? Lisa's not sure what to do about that. She just knows she doesn't think she's ready to let Dean go. Lisa Braeden always has had a stubborn streak, you know. Her mother used to tell her it would be her undoing.

''Ruby.'' She tries the name out on her tongue. Tastes the bitterness that comes along with it. With her best smile, she offers the other woman her hand and says, as warmly as possible. ''It's nice to meet you.'' Then adds, ''Are you the one who broke his heart?''

Ruby smiles thinly, but she takes her hand. ''He would've broken mine anyway.''

And Lisa laughs and laughs because it's true. She gets the feeling she's about to learn just how much Dean Winchester can break your heart.

.

.

.

Oh, having Dean in the house is awesome! He's great. Yeah. Totally. He teaches Ben all kinds of cool stuff, like working on cars and how to hustle pool (don't tell Mom) and pick up girls (don't tell Mom) and how to deal with bullies and how to fight (don't tell Mom). He lets Ben get away with things Mom never does and he plays baseball with him and he comes to all of his soccer games and he even came to a parent/teacher conference that one time. He's all kinds of awesome. He introduces Ben to all kinds of awesome music (turns out there is way more to classic rock than just AC/DC and Led Zeppelin) and he makes Mom laugh and -

Screw it.

Dean's his fucking father, isn't he?

Nobody has ever told Ben about his father because he's never asked.

Actually that's not completely true. He did ask Mom about his father once when he was six years old. He was just a stupid little kid who didn't understand why all of the other kids had a dad and he didn't. So he asked Mom where his dad was and why he wasn't around to take Ben to baseball games like his best friend Levi's dad did. He remembers very clearly the way her eyes clouded over with such pain and guilt as she explained that his father wasn't one to stay in one place for too long and she was so, so sorry. It made him feel so bad that he never asked again. He never wanted to see that kind of pain on his mother's face ever again. He especially didn't want to put it there himself.

His mother was all that he had and he told himself that she was enough. He repeated it over and over again until it became the truth. He still wondered, of course. In the back of his mind. He wondered what it would be like to have a dad. Then he turned eight, and there was Dean.

Ben's not sure he can pinpoint the exact moment that he decided Dean Winchester was _clearly_ his father but he thinks his suspicion started sometime right after the changelings. In the car on the way home, Dean kept looking in the rearview mirror with this little frown on his face like he was checking to make sure Ben was still there.

Sometime after that, Ben made up his mind.

He was a Winchester, he decided.

That was that.

It's not a surprise that Dean comes back in the end. People think it is. People think there's no warning. Mom's friends, Grandma, Aunt Lindsey... They all act like this was a totally unforeseen turn of events when Dean comes back to them, battle weary and broken. Even Mom is shocked that he stays for as long as he does.

Ben isn't surprised in the least. He knew all along that this was the way it would go.

Three years.

That's how long he got postcards from Dean in the mail. They were never very long and Dean never made promises - he was very careful not to make any kind of promises - but they were the cement. They are the reason why Ben is positive he's a Winchester. More importantly, they're why Ben knows Dean wants to be his father just as much as Ben wants to be Dean's son.

.

.

.

There are certain problems that come along with being such a ''perceptive child'' (as Grandma says). When Dean does come back to them, Ben studies him continuously, searching for anything to tie him to the blood in Ben's veins. He looks for similarities and analyzes everything and the end results only leave him feeling more confused than ever.

He learns that when Dean laughs - really laughs with all he's got - his eyes crinkle and he always looks down as if he's embarrassed he's laughing. Ben does that, too. He learns that Dean's eyes sometimes sparkle the same way Ben's do. He learns that their taste in movies and music is totally in sync and Dean is constantly introducing Ben to cool stuff.

And he is positive that the biggest reason Dean came back to them was because of him. Dean loves Mom. He does. He'd probably do anything for her. He'd probably stay with her for the rest of their lives. But he has never looked at her the way he looks at this mysterious Ruby chick. It's worrisome.

Loyal to a fault, always on his mother's side, Ben decides he hates Ruby on principle the moment he sees her lay eyes on Dean.

.

.

.

Here is the truth of the matter:

Dean is pretty much Ben's hero. He loves him like a father, he's the man he looks up to, the person he wants to grow up to be. But Mom is always going to come first, no matter what, and if Dean breaks her heart, Ben isn't sure he'll ever be able to forgive him.

.

.

.

Since she came back, she tends to sleep a lot. Well, not _a lot_. Just more than she used to. For some reason, she is always tired nowadays. Sometimes she can barely manage to get herself out of bed in the mornings. She used to be able to go days without sleeping. She can't do that now. If she's up for a mere 48 hours, she's sluggish and useless. It's annoying as shit.

(Did you know that increased fatigue is a symptom of depression?)

She has come to appreciate her bed these days, with the warm comforter and the fluffy pillows. She even  _likes_ sleeping now. It's a nice escape that she can't get anywhere else. Not even in alcohol. It's the waking up part that she dreads. Waking up and having to drag herself out of her cocoon to face her miserable life is bad enough. Being cruelly ripped out of sleep by a painful and humiliating form of torture is a whole different ballpark.

In the middle of the night, she jerks awake in her bed because she is suddenly very aware that she cannot breathe. She bolts upright, clawing at her chest to no avail. The air won't reach her lungs, her chest is tightening painfully like something is crushing it and her stomach is turning upside down. She tries to stand, but her legs tangle with the blankets and she winds up on her hands and knees, one hand clutching at her chest as she tries to breathe. Just when she's starting to think she might pass out, air returns to her all at once.

''Well,'' a voice drawls. ''That seemed unpleasant.''

She looks up, still gulping desperately for breath. Something somewhere between terror and rage floods through her body and she manages to choke out a, ''What'd you do?'' through her heaving breaths.

Looking all too comfortable leaning against the doorway, Crowley's only answer is a smile. He looks around the sparse bedroom with critical eyes. ''Love what you've done with the place,'' he purrs out, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Ruby struggles to her feet once she has regained a somewhat steady breathing pattern, her limbs feeling shaky and unsteady as she does so. ''I don't want you here,'' she tells him plainly, grasping onto the end table for support.

He pushes himself off the doorframe with what sounds like an exasperated sigh. ''Yes, because I care so terribly much about what _you_ want.''

His biting reply only serves to piss her off and her eyes narrow. Crowley has always tested her patience, but ever since he decided to bring her back and use her as his own personal chess piece he has become more and more grating with every passing day. She suspects that has something to do with the fact that he has, on numerous occasions, tried to force himself on her. It's agonizing that she can't kill him. ''What do you want?'' She grinds out, crossing her arms.

He grins at her, moving farther into the room. His eyes flash when she tenses and he sits down on the window seat, making himself right at home. Her skin crawls. ''Only you, darling.''

''I'm serious.''

''So am I.''

''Why are you here?''

''Did it hurt?'' He leans forwards and studies her until she shivers, unblinking and cold. ''Seeing him with her? Did it hurt you? Dig into your skin and seep into your bones? Did it sting? Ache? Bleed, perhaps? That's called love, kitten.''

Ruby flinches even though she doesn't mean to, looks away and tries unsuccessfully to swallow. ''It didn't,'' she whispers, closing her eyes. ''Hurt, I mean. It didn't. And it's not love,'' she snaps out. ''It can't be love. I don't love.''

Crowley chuckles deeply and the sound is like nails on a chalkboard. ''You always were a bad liar, Ruby.'' Her control slips and at her side, her hands clenches into a fist. He catches sight of the fist and the way her eyes harden and he rises to his feet gracefully, wagging a disapproving finger in her face. ''Ah, ah, ah. You know what happens when you do that. Never a pretty sight.''

Fear skitters across her face before she can stop it and she turns away. ''For the last time, Crowley. Why are you here?''

''I need you to do something for me.''

She whirls around to face him, eyes widened in shock. ''You think I'm going to help you?'' A bitter laugh, like knives and bullets, escapes her lips and she plays with fire by sneering at him like he is below her. ''After everything you've done? After everything you've tried to do? After everything you've told me you _will_ do? And you think I'm going to help you, you spineless bastard? I may not be able to stop you, but I am most certainly not going to _help_ you destroy things.'' Ruby levels one last glare at him and lets her eyes flicker onyx briefly. ''Now get out.''

He looks at her for a moment, blinks and then shrugs. ''Fair enough.''

She startles because it's never been that easy to say no to him. She narrows her eyes suspiciously, pursing her lips. ''Well...'' She clears her throat. ''...Okay then.'' When she waits a moment and nothing happens, she lets out the breath she's been holding and decides it is way past time to crawl back into bed and block out the world. ''I'm going to go back to sleep now,'' she informs him. ''And when I eventually have to force myself awake in the morning, you won't be here. Got it?''

''All right,'' Crowley says simply. ''That's fine.''

She turns her back to him and tries to relax her body. Her fingers clench the pillow and she grits her teeth together as she tries to calm down despite the dread bubbling and foaming in her chest.

It happens quickly and she never does get to relax. A horrific searing pain invades her right arm like somebody has dragged a knife down her skin. She swallows and chokes on a startled gasp of pain. Her eyes fall to her arm and she watches in both morbid fascination and horror as her arm is brutally sliced open by an imaginary knife. The slash wound is deep enough that she can actually see the bone and her stomach turns at the sight. Blood begins to stain the sheets and when she sits upright, clasping a hand to her arm in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding, Crowley is sitting next to her, calm and focused.

''I guess I'll just have to change your mind,'' he says. ''Won't I?'' He reaches over to trail a finger down her chest slowly and she presses her lips together, determined not to cry out. Not even when blood drips down her chest and stomach, staining her shirt. ''You'll scream eventually,'' he promises.

She shakes her head and manages an odd sounding laugh. ''Go ahead,'' she gets out, managing somehow to keep her voice even and steady even as pain hammers into her body. ''Do whatever you want to me. I'm still not going to help you hurt anybody else.''

Crowley moves a hand to her leg, drumming his fingers on her skin. ''You will,'' he says confidently. ''I just need to do a little convincing.''

.

.

.

The dawn breaks and Ruby agrees to do what he asks of her.

Just like he knew she would.

She chips away and fractures apart at the seams when the daylight begins to seep over the night sky, a mess of colors too pretty and delicate to appeal to Crowley. She is bleeding on the bed, cut and torn apart, burned and bruised and _defiant_ , as usual. Salty tears and sweat stings her open wounds and her hair is streaked with blood.

There is no _yes_ that slips through her bloodied lips. No matter what physical pain he inflicts upon her. Despite her many, _many_ pathetic flaws, she has somehow scrounged up will, determination, and arrogance stronger than that of ten men. Her body is stronger than most, but it is her pesky heart that gets her. Hearts will always be useless tools. Her big heart and the fragmented bits of soul she has managed to clutch onto over the past several hundred years are the very things that make her a pariah among most demons.

Hell is very much like a playground. People will mock you for being different. In Hell, Ruby was the equivalent of a tiny little girl with braces and pigtails who cries and whimpers and hides her face in her hair when the older, meaner and larger children pick on her. All the black eyes and gritty exteriors cannot change the fact that Ruby is merely an easily used toy that Crowley knows how to wind up. Her will is strong, but not nearly strong enough to endure the kind of torture he slams her with. And when he stands back to survey the mess of blood and tears staining the white sheets red, she breaks.

If he had known it would've been as easy as threatening those boys, he would've done that sooner. Oh, who is he kidding? He would have waited just to bleed her. He smiles pleasantly, rolls his sleeves down and looks down at her like she's a pathetic child who needs to be placated. Gently, he leans down to brush hair out of her eyes and wipes away her bloody tears. ''You have never looked more beautiful, darling,'' he says earnestly.

And then he kisses her forehead, damp with sweat, drapes his jacket over his arm and strolls out of the room, leaving her broken and so beautifully bloody on the bed.

''I'll see you tomorrow,'' he calls over his shoulder.

.

.

.

She uses whatever strength she can muster to throw a lamp at the door once it has closed. It shatters and falls apart and she collapses back onto the bed as blood drips from her fingertips.

.

.

.

Ruby cannot figure out how to decode her own reasoning on this one, but for some reason, Dean is the only one she will allow to see her like this.

After she cleans herself up, washes the blood away, bandages the worst of it, and dresses in clothes that haven't turned red, she goes to Dean's new perfect house with his perfect woman and his perfect son in his perfect life and she rings his perfect doorbell at an imperfect time. Tired, bleeding through bandages and impatient to get this fucking show on the road, she waits for Dean to wake the fuck up and answer the fucking door. When he does answer the fucking door, her gut twists in that strange, unexplainable way and suddenly she wants very much to break down and cry.

All traces of grumpiness and exhaustion disappear from his eyes the minute he sees her, eyes widening in either horror or shock. She can't tell which. ''Jesus Christ,'' he mutters hoarsely. ''Ruby, you...'' He trails off, looking her up and down with something that can easily be mistaken for concern. The concern bleeds out and his eyes harden, nostrils flaring, lips thinning. One could almost mistake that for some sort of instinct to protect. ''What the fuck?''

Her plan had been to get straight to business, but there's a lump in her throat and her wounds are beginning to hurt again. ''It's fine,'' she says quietly. ''It's nothing.''

''What happened?'' He demands, jaw tightening. ''Who did this?''

''A wendigo,'' she says quickly. ''It was nearby.''

''I didn't hear anything about a - ''

''Well, that's because I got to it before it could make the six o'clock news. I shouldn't have gone alone, but I thought I could handle it. Don't worry, it's dead.'' She offers him a toothy grin. ''It's deader than dead.'' 

He arches an eyebrow, glances behind him and then steps outside into the frigid early morning September air, closing the door behind him. ''Bull-fuckin'-shit,'' he deadpans.

''Dean - ''

''Ruby, I can tell when you're lying.''

''I'm not lying,'' she argues defensively.

''Yes, you are.''

''I'm not.''

''Ruby, there is a fucking handprint around your neck! Somebody did this to you!''

Her hand flies to her neck and she winces at the sudden jolt of pain. He looks satisfied, arms folded over his chest. She kind of wishes he wouldn't show off his arms like that because they're very nice arms and she has lost a lot of blood and she is quite obviously not thinking clearly right now. ''I shouldn't have come here,'' she whispers.

''No, you shouldn't have,'' he bites out harshly, only to soften almost immediately. She must look truly pitiful right now if Dean Winchester, of all people, is willing to give up that easily. ''But you did,'' he says. ''And now you're standing here bleeding on my steps and you won't tell me who fucking worked you over.'' He eyes her carefully, gaze flickering to the blood dribbling down her arm. ''Was it one of the Campbells? Was it that Mark guy?'' Is that jealousy in his voice? No, impossible.

''What? No. No, of course not.'' She bites back a gasp of pain when she crosses her arms, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. ''It was just a wendigo. That's all. And I'm fine,'' she smiles brightly.

He blinks, looking unconvinced. ''You can barely stand.''

She scowls and straightens with some difficulty. She had been hoping he wasn't aware of how much pain she was in. ''I can stand just fine.''

He shakes his head and scoffs in disgust. ''God, you're fucking stubborn.''

''Why do you care?'' Aha. She catches him off guard with that comment. His eyes stray to the shiny red car that passes by the house. Her hair falls in her eyes. ''Really, Dean,'' she goes on bravely. ''You have made it perfectly clear that you do not trust me. So why, huh? Why do you care?''

He looks off into the distance, arms crossed, body language closed off and then when he looks back at her, he's blank like a fresh sheet of paper. ''Why are you here?''

''I need you to tell Sam something for me.''

''You couldn't tell him yourself?''

''I don't want him to see me like this,'' she admits softly. ''Can you just tell him I'm going to be away for a few days? Tell him not to worry about me.''

Dean frowns. ''Ruby, how much trouble are you in?''

''Just tell him, all right?''

''Fine.'' His eyes soften slightly and he takes a step towards her, frowning at her wounds. ''Will you at least let me patch you up?''

She doesn't offer her gratitude because it doesn't mean much, locking eyes with him briefly before she turns to leave. He moves fast, reaching out and grabbing her arm to spin her around to face him. She flinches and hisses in pain, jerking free of his grasp instantly. ''Don't,'' she pleads quietly. ''Don't touch me.'' She really only says it because she's in too much pain to be touched but if Dean thinks she says it for a different reason then that's okay too.

''Ruby,'' he breathes into her ear. ''Why'd you really come here?''

Hell if she knows.

That's a lie. She knows exactly why she came here. There is some part of her that wants him to see through her charade and realize that something is wrong. There is some twisted, pathetic, sad part of her that wants him to save her. She fucking hates that. She'd love so much to drown that part of her in holy water. Not only is Dean Winchester strictly off limits these days, but she is Ruby and Ruby doesn't need to be saved by anyone but herself. Ruby does the saving. In response, she meets his eyes, licks her lips and then walks away. ''Bye, Dean.''

.

.

.

Upstairs, Lisa closes the curtains and steps away from the window.

.

.

.

_''I can tell you already think I'm the dragon,_  
_that would be so like me, but I'm not. I'm not the dragon._  
_I'm not the princess either''_   
**\- litany in which certain things are crossed out**


	3. Three

**Chapter Three**

_don't make me say it_

.

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_''Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you._  
_Quit milling around the yard and come inside.''_  
**\- litany in which certain things are crossed out**

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.

.

She's not special.

Ruby isn't one of a kind or unique. Nobody in the world is truly  _different,_ you see. We're all the same. We all want the same things. A chance at life and love and all that crap. A chance at success and happiness. We're all so greedy. We all have flaws and imperfections and scars. Demons are no different. Ruby is not alone. She isn't the only one of her kind.

Did you think she was?

_Please._ There are others. Of course there are others. There are always others. Demons have been going rogue since time began. She is hardly the first.

Look around you. Look at your life, the people you surround yourself with - co-workers, neighbors, the PTA. Chances are you probably know at least one demon. They're not that different from you and me, you understand. They live, they breathe, they eat, they sleep, they work hard, they make money, they fall in love, they have families, and someday they will die. Just like humans.

Everybody gets a second chance.

If you're a demon and you either somehow managed to hold onto your heart and soul, or you simply cannot be bothered by tawdry affairs such as war and getting your hands dirty, then there is a process. You'll get yourself a new name, forged documents and a location, and then you'll be free to go begin your new life amongst the humans. Rules: Do not draw attention to yourself or other demons. Do not get caught. Do not fight humans. Do not fight other demons. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

Ruby has only one thing about her that separates her from the others. She threw out the demon handbook a long time ago and still can't manage to fit in properly on either side. She can't be a human and she can't be a demon. There is an entire underground network for renegade demons who just want to live normal lives. To them, Ruby is somewhat of a legend. Someone to both look up to and mock for her stupidity. None of them ever want to risk knowing her. She's got a bounty on her head the size of Texas. Any sane demon _or_ hunter is going to avoid her like the plague.

Luckily for her, Adele and Josef Casablancas (Adele chose their last name when they relocated; she has always had a crush on Humphrey Bogart-  in her original human life, she crossed paths with him once or twice and now she never stops bragging about her time with Bogie and The Rat Pack) have always been rebels.

.

.

.

She's known them both for years. They trust her, she trusts them, and they all help each other out when they can. They fought together back in '08. They had their very own rag tag group of misfits. Ruby had a _life_ with them back before everything went to shit. A real life.

Adele and Josef keep a low profile in a small town in Georgia and they consider Ruby a trusted friend. They consider her _family._ Adele is pretty and young looking with an infectious smile and hair that flickers between brunette and blonde monthly because Adele is wonderful but chronically indecisive. Josef is tall and handsome and when he smiles, he smiles with his eyes. He reminds Ruby a little bit of Dean. Adele works at the library, Josef is a construction worker, they don't bother anyone, they don't do anything wrong, they have a cat named Mae, they're trying for a baby, and Ruby cares for both of them because they're family.

It's not a terribly unusual concept. A lot of demons consider themselves family, but this is different. Josef is _literally_ Ruby's family. In life, he was her uncle. He was her father's brother who treated her like a little sister and continues to do so to this day. He's one of the sweetest men she has ever known. He just kind of happened to make a deal for his daughter's life when he was alive. Any father would have done the same.

Josef and Adele take care of her; they treat her like their own.

And Crowley wants her to kill them both. If she doesn't, he'll gut Sam like a fish and wear Dean's entrails around his neck like a piece of jewellery.

In the end, it comes down to choosing which family to save, and the Winchesters have more people who _need_ them.

.

.

.

Adele opens the door with that same old sparkling smile that makes her glow. ''Ruby!'' The second she sees the other blonde standing on her porch, the light fades from her eyes and she looks Ruby up and down in worry. Before Ruby can say a word, Adele is pulling her inside and calling out, ''Joe! Ruby's hurt.'' Her voice is so worried and so concerned that Ruby is pretty sure she's going to throw up.

Josef is less panicked when he lays eyes on her. He merely gives her a quick onceover, arches an eyebrow and offers her a beer. ''The fuck happened to you?'' He asks. ''You lose a fight with a lawnmower?''

''I'll heal,'' Ruby all but whispers, unable to look into his warm eyes.

''If you weren't special,'' Adele shakes her head as she carefully and tenderly reapplies bandages on Ruby's wrist. ''You'd be dead right now.''

Ruby doesn't say a word and takes a sip of her beer.

_Special._

Is that what we're calling it now?

.

.

.

It ends like this:

Adele is crying and begging and praying to a God that won't listen to her and Josef has his arms spread out and that same defiant glint that Ruby has is glimmering in his eyes. ''Do it,'' he orders lowly. ''Right now, Ruby. Kill us. You have to do it. You know you have to do it. I promised your father I'd look out for you and I'm gonna. _Do it!_ ''

.

.

.

She thinks she used to be stronger than this. She was unflappable. A fighter. Hell had made her strong.

The road in front of her was long and dark and it twisted around sharp corners and trees that reached for her with their twig fingers. She wasn't a human; too strong and emotionless to let anyone behind her walls. She couldn't be a demon; she was considered a deserter among demons. She crawled through dirt and rain and flames to keep going. But it was what was needed at the time. There was a war going on and she wanted to be a part of it. She wanted to save the world. She wanted to mean something. She wanted a purpose.

She never got that chance. She died on May 2nd, 2008. Ripped away brutally and without warning by Lillith and sent back down to Hell before she could even have a chance to do anything remotely savior-like. Everything she went through, everything she did to claw her way topside, to find and help the Winchesters... It was all pointless. She had failed. And then she had been replaced. 

Hell didn't make her strong the second time around.

When she died as a human, she didn't have anything to miss. Her kid were gone, her father was long gone, Josef too, her mother (also gone) was a cruel, cold-eyed woman who had never made it a secret that she despised her children, and her only living sibling was off somewhere married to a rich man who could give her everything her family couldn't and gloating over what she had just done to the rest of her family. Ruby had _nothing_ when she was human. She got involved with witchcraft to protect her thirteen year old little sister and five year old little brother from the plague that was sweeping over the village. And every stupid spell she did fucking failed her.

She was twenty one when she died of the same illness that had taken her brother and sister, a disappointment to her mother and a failure in her own mind. She died sick and alone after selling her soul to something that didn't even work. And she didn't care. At the very end, all she wanted to do was die. She had nothing to miss the first time around. Nothing to grieve for.

But the second time... The second time around she had Dean and Sam. She had Josef and Adele and all those other annoying people who had managed to carve their way into her hardened heart. She had people to leave behind. She had things to miss. Not to mention she was considered a filthy traitor to both demon and hunters alike, meaning they really loved to torture slowly and painfully. Hell only turns you into an angst filled basket case if you have something to lose. The second time, when Lilith sent her spiraling back down into The Pit, she had something to lose. She had _everything_ to lose.

That's how she wound up like this. That's how she ended up Crowley's bitch.

He pulled her out of The Pit because he strives for control and has always lusted after her. Except that's only part of the story. He pulled her out of The Pit because she is his leverage. His bargaining chip. Crowley pulled her out of The Pit to be his _hostage_.

.

.

.

Crowley finds her in the bathroom of a dirty truck stop diner after she has left Josef and Adele's. She is pale and shaking and when she sees him in the mirror she basically decides to fuck it. She can't do this shit anymore. She whips around and presses him up against the wall with her hand wrapped around his throat before he can even say _boo._

''Just kill me,'' she gasps out.

He smirks, shoves her to the ground and straightens his jacket. ''No.''

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.

.

Yes, Hell is bad. Yes, Dean had it rough. Yes, Ruby had it worse. But Sam spent his time in Hell stuck in a cage with Lucifer and Michael and as fucked up brothers go, those two take the cake. Yeah, okay, Dean and Ruby are irreversibly fucked up from being tortured and doing the torturing. But Sam was a chew toy for fucking Lucifer and Michael. Dean and Ruby don't know what Hell is.

Sam takes pills. Sshh, don't tell anyone, but... Sam takes pills. It's really not that big of a deal. He takes two at night to help him sleep and one in the morning to help him get through the day. It's _really_ not a big deal. He steals them when he has to, but mostly Samuel supplies him with the pills he needs. It's a sad, sad day when your grandfather becomes your drug dealer. But then again, Sam is perfectly aware that he is one sad case.

For a long time, Ruby takes care of him. She is like some kind of mix of Dean, Mom and Dad. She strokes his hair and rubs his back like he imagines Mom would have done, sings him into sedation like Dean used to do and kicks his ass when his ass needs kicking like Dad would be doing right about now. Ruby is great and real, but Ruby also longs and pines and craves for something and someone she cannot have and she keeps secrets and sometimes when he looks at her all he can feel is guilt for not knowing that 2.0 wasn't her.

In short, he loves Ruby, but she's not enough.

So Sam takes pills.

_Just to take the edge off,_ he tells himself. _Just to make it out of this alive._

It may be a sad, sad day when Grandpa becomes Dealer, but it's an even sadder day when Dean is the stable brother. That's mean. It sounds mean. It's just that most of the time Dean is a self-deprecating, self-medicating, self-loathing, sorry sad sack. Or at least that's what Lucifer has managed to drill into his head. But now Dean has Lisa and Ben and a house and a job and perfect. He's more stable than he's ever been and...and his eyes have become just as dull as his life.

Wanna know a secret?

Sam's rooting for Ruby on this one. He's always cheered for the underdog, after all.

.

.

.

He's out. He's out, the game's over, the world didn't end. Dean Winchester fucking retired to live the fucking simple life, all right? He has Ben now. And Lisa _._ The woman of his dreams. The woman he dreams about. Sure, she's in his dreams. Sure. He doesn't need hunting. He _doesn't._ It's out of his system now. It's lost its appeal. Its shine and sparkle. That's all gone. He doesn't need it. He doesn't need -

Fuck this.

He needs it.

He can't help it. He doesn't _want_ to want it. There are a lot of things he doesn't want to want. But hunting is in his blood, his DNA, his genetic makeup, his soul. That's his world out there. With the blood and the flesh and the bones. The knives and the guns and the salt. The road and the Impala and Sam and Ru - No, Dean. _No._ Not her. That's his kingdom out there. That's his wonderland. That's where he belongs. That's _home._

So you tell him, what else is he supposed to do?

He hovers somewhere between home and normal for a couple of weeks. Between Sam and Ben. Between Lisa and Ruby. And then there's a vampire and blood in his mouth and everything is so loud and bright and...and things change.

Heartbeats, he will learn, are all different.

_Her_ heartbeat will sound like music.

.

.

.

_''There's only one thing I want, don't make me say it, just get me bandages,_  
_I'm bleeding, I'm not just making conversation.''_  
**\- wishbone**


	4. Four

**Chapter Four**

_we can stay all buttoned up_

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.

.

_''On the way to the hardware store I kept biting your arm_  
_and you said if I was really a vampire I would be biting your neck,_  
_so I started biting your neck''_   
**- i had a dream about you**

.

.

.

She stays away for longer than she had originally planned because guilt trips her and scratches at her legs until she falls down. She stays away for two weeks and then she goes back to Sam and Mark and the empty spot reserved for Dean. She comes back and finds that things have changed a whole hell of a lot since she's been gone.

First of all, Sam's pissed at her for leaving without saying goodbye and staying away for so long. She'll have to make that up to him somehow.

Second of all, the mysterious Castiel has returned to flit back and forth between Heaven and Hell and _God_ and _Dean_. Which is interesting and also terrifying.

And third of all, Dean is apparently a vampire now. So that's new.

Eat your heart out, Spike.

.

.

.

She hadn't planned on this happening.

However when it comes to vampires, planning is not necessarily something that happens a lot. Vampires are just... _there._ They just _are._ They do not exist for plans. They exist for chaos and mayhem and bloodshed. Vampires are manifestations of lost control. It's always about the loss of control. Dean as a vampire is no different.

One minute she's alone, the next she's turning around and running straight into a familiar chest. ''Dean!'' Her hands fly up to her mouth in shock and she stumbles backwards. He does not look good. He looks sick and tired and out of it. He kind of looks like death warmed over actually. That bloodlust thing must be a bitch. ''Oh, god.'' Concern strikes before she can stop it and she reaches out to touch his face without even knowing what she's doing.

He makes a noise low in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a huff of breath, and looks pained, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch without even realizing he's doing it, just to feel the warmth of her skin. She tries to draw her hand away. It doesn't work. His eyes flicker with something she has never seen in those green eyes before and he catches her hand. Well, yeah. She's in trouble now. He won't let her get away. Won't let her escape. He holds her wrists with strength he's not supposed to have, and she thinks it is way beyond unnerving that he hasn't said a word yet. He starts to move her back toward the wall. 

''Dean,'' she whispers. ''You're sick. You don't know what you're doing.'' He presses his lips together, and her back hits the wall. She swallows. ''I won't taste good,'' she warns. He leans closer and when he's inches away from her lips, battle in his eyes as he tries to reign in the beast that has taken over, she smirks. ''Do you remember how these things used to end?''

''Would you hold it against me?'' He questions roughly. ''You'd hold it against me, wouldn't you? It wouldn't kill you.''

''No,'' she agrees. ''It wouldn't. But it'd kill you.''

His eyes harden and flash with frustration and a ripping snarl leaves his lips as he grasps her shoulders, pushes her away from him, and throws himself away from her. She has to catch her breath. ''Ruby,'' he rasps out at last. ''Kill me.'' He looks at her with pleading, broken eyes and she has to look away. ''Will you kill me?''

'' _No_ ,'' she bites out vehemently. ''No, Dean. We're going to fix this. We are, I promise.''

He turns away from her and draws in a shaky breath. She watches him for a moment, momentarily enthralled by the brand new unnatural aura surrounding him. It's almost too bad. That he'll have to go back. It's almost a shame. He could get used to it, you know. Learn to control the bloodlust and the heightened senses. He'd be an unstoppable hunter. And they'd be even. They'd finally _match._ He wouldn't be able to go back to Lisa, either. That's for sure. She very nearly smiles at that thought, and that's when she manages to snap herself out of it. _Oh._ She shakes her head and ducks her head, hair falling in her face like a door to keep things away. _God, no._ She's beginning to sound pathetically desperate. How fucking unacceptable. She is not that person. She _will not_ be that person.

''Your heartbeat,'' he murmurs, sounding utterly entranced by something she can't hear. ''It sounds different than hers did.''

Her heart leaps into her throat and she looks up sharply. She can only guess he's talking about Lisa. She opens her mouth to question whether or not he hurt her, but the words don't come out. She closes her eyes for a second, just a second, to concentrate on her breathing, and before she can open them two hands have suddenly slammed onto the wall on either side of her head and a pair of very, very familiar lips are covering her own.

Listen, okay? He's not her first newborn vampire. She knows what they go through. It's not just your senses that are heightened when you become a vampire. Emotions run high during those first 48 hours. It's like a high you can't come down from. Everything is bright and loud and you want everything so much. You're hungry and _so thirsty_ and your body craves for things you know you shouldn't be wanting. Like sex with whatever warm body you can find. Those first couple days as a vampire, you have little to no control over your urges and your body.

And Ruby is all too aware of what it feels like to not be in control of your own body. (Thanks for that, Crowley.)

She knows this isn't Dean kissing her right now. That's basic logic. It's not Dean. It's the vampire, the disease, the toxin, the beast, the id we all have inside of us. But she still kisses back anyway because...just _because._ She winds her arms around his neck, pulls him tighter against her, and kisses him back. This is a dance she'll always know the steps to. ''Is this why you came here?'' She pants out breathlessly when he pulls away from her momentarily. ''Is this what you were looking for?''

He meets her eyes slowly. ''I...I don't remember.'' It's one more kiss, with his knee slipping between her legs and her nails scratching down the back of his neck, the both of them breathing shakily, and then there's Sam. They pull away from each other when they hear him clear his throat and when she catches sight of his disappointed frown, she suddenly feels like a filthy homewrecking whore. Regret tightens her chest in a vice like grip and she scowls, pushing Dean away from her. She touches a finger to her lips, looks at Dean who can't meet her eye and then she all but runs from the room.

Demons usually have excellent self-control.

She, apparently, does not.

.

.

.

Sam crosses his arms and tightens his jaw once Ruby has left the room. Dean is staring at the ground, fists clenched, chest heaving. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's literally fighting with himself to stop from chasing after Ruby and finishing what they started. Clearly Dean is not as stable as Sam previously thought. Vampire or not. ''What are you doing, Dean?'' He asks quietly. ''You have Lisa waiting for you at home. What are you doing?''

''I...I don't...'' Dean's voice trembles and when he lifts his head, his eyes are lost and confused. ''I don't know anymore, Sam. Her heartbeat...'' He trails off and lets out a slow breath.

This would be the part where Sam softens and offers Dean an olive branch with a strangled smile and a soft promise, right? Yeah, well, not anymore. ''After we get you back,'' he says lowly. ''You are going to need to figure out your own shit.''

Except if you look into his eyes, he's really saying, _If you hurt her, I'll hurt you._

Slowly but surely, she has somehow managed to worm her way into his heart, into the places once reserved only for Dean, hasn't she?

.

.

.

They get Dean back without fangs and bloodlust. Of course they do. Was there ever any other option?

Before he goes back to the home he has forged for himself, he catches her outside in the sunlight. ''It's okay,'' she interrupts before he can say anything. ''You don't have to say it. It's forgotten.'' He nods, relaxes, but doesn't leave. She tilts her head to the side and tries to smirk like she's not shaking on the inside. ''She's too good for you, you know.''

''Well,'' he clears his throat and jingles his car keys in his hand absently. '' _Yeah_. No shit. She deserves - ''

''No.'' She shakes her head and takes a single step closer to him, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to keep herself warm in the chilly October air. ''That's not what I meant. I mean she's too _good_ for you. Too soft. You need someone with edges,'' she advises with a curt nod. ''Real sharp edges that'll cut you open and make you bleed all over the floor because this love thing... What is it without a little pain? That's what makes it so powerful. That's what makes you _feel_ it. Love doesn't mean a thing if it doesn't hurt you, Dean.''

He looks at her for a long time and she gets the feeling she has scared him somehow. Possibly because he knows she's right. ''You're twisted,'' he finally chokes out with a fake sounding chuckle.

She grins. ''You used to love that about me.''

That imposter of a smile falls away and leaves him open and raw in front of her.

She walks away.

.

.

.

On Halloween, when Dean should be helping Ben with his costume and stealing most of the candy for the trick or treaters while Lisa half heartedly scolds him, he is instead stuck with the Campbell clan, his brother who won't talk to him and his demonic ex who won't even look at him. Big fun. Oh, but that's not the best part. It gets better. Of course it gets even better. This is the best part:

That Mark kid is having a mostly one sided conversation with that smirky chick whose name Dean cannot remember. Jen? Wren? Gwen! Yes, right. That's it. _Gwen._ She is doing most of the talking, which is a real shock, Mark looks like he's only half listening and then Ruby storms into the room with a look on her face that Dean is incredibly accustomed to. He knows that face. The way her lips are drawn together into a tight line and scrunched into a frown. The way her eyes are narrowed ever so slightly and gleam with defiance. That is determined Ruby coming out to play. Dean knows her well.

She marches right over to Gwen and Mark, puts herself right in the middle of them, effectively phasing Gwen out, and places her hands on her hips. ''Yeah, _hi._ Listen, I know you've got this whole strong, shy and silent thing going for you and all, but are you ever going to make a move? Ask me out, kiss me, throw me against the wall and have your way with me. Just do _something_.''

Dean's left eye begins to twitch. Beside him, Sam tosses him a look and a sigh.

Honestly, Dean's not sure who is more shocked by her bluntness.

She doesn't give Mark a chance to answer because she's Ruby and despite what you may think, she does have a tendency to ramble quite a bit. Dean knows this well too. ''I'll tell you what,'' she says. ''I'll do it for you, okay? Go out with me tonight. It's Halloween. Do you really want to spend it with these people? We should go do something...'' She pauses to send Mark a smile that Dean thinks is just a little too slow and seductive for it to be _okay_. ''...Sinful. So, what do you say, Scruffy? Yay or nay? Don't think you have to say yes just because everyone's staring at me. Believe me, there are plenty of other guys who would be willing to tap this. Just so you - ''

''Ruby.''

''Yeah?''

''I'll go out with you.''

Dean slaps a hand to his eye and grits his teeth together. Sam sighs a little louder. There is something incredibly not right about this whole scene. Dean is just not okay with this. Which is ridiculous because he's not jealous. At all.

Shut up.

Mark just isn't right for her. That's all.

''Great,'' Ruby chirps happily. She turns around to throw the rest of the room one of those tight lipped smiles of hers that lets you know that at the moment, she thinks she's better than you. ''Well, now that I have plans, I have much better things to do than hang out here with you losers.'' Still in an apparently unflinchingly good mood, she pats Sam on the shoulder and says, ''Except you. You're not a loser.''

''Thanks for that,'' Sam throws back easily.

Then she turns and strides out of the room as confidently as she came.

''It's a good thing he doesn't talk much,'' Sam mutters, just loud enough for Dean to hear. ''She'll talk enough for the both of them, I'm sure.''

Something about the thought of Ruby and Mark becoming _RubyandMark_ makes Dean's stomach turn. He's not sure why.

.

.

.

Contrary to what Lisa Braeden might think, Ruby does not particularly want to fight for Dean. It's the whole flowers and weeds comparison thing. It is not a fight she would win and why would she ever willingly enter a fight she knows she has no chance of winning? That's a suicide mission.

So then there is Mark.

He is something light and sweet compared to Dean's dark and heady. Mark Campbell could be something undeniably special. He could heal her; put a band aid all over those gashes on her heart, those splinters on her skin. He would be so good to her.

A few years back, she asked Dean, ''Why do you like me?'' while she was lying in bed with a sheet wrapped around her and Dean was tugging on his shirt.

He had looked at her over his shoulder with a cocky smirk. '' 'Cause you're hot and a good fuck,'' he had said confidently, rudely, even though she could see he meant to say more.

But she had simply scoffed and waved him away from her like she was the queen and he wasn't nearly good enough for her. Which he wasn't. ''Figures you'd say something crude.''

Now, she is positive that if she asks Mark that same question, he will say something completely different.

.

.

.

At the end of the night, he takes her home and smiles at her like no one else has ever smiled at her. She's not sure how to take that smile. ''So,'' she says after the usual pleasantries have been exchanged and she's still waiting for something. ''This is my door.''

His lips twitch into a half smile. ''It's a nice door.''

She leans closer and studies him curiously, trying desperately to accomplish the impossible and read his mind. Unsurprisingly, he is a closed book, locked up tight and she can't find the key. ''You're not going to do it, are you?'' She sighs out, cocking her head to the side.

''Do what?''

She huffs out an impatient breath, steps forwards and throws her arms around his neck to kiss him fiercely. He kisses back, pulling her closer, and she gets the feeling he was just waiting for her to do that. It's different than many of the kisses she's experienced. There is no harried feeling of desperation, no teeth biting down purposefully on her lip, no fingernails scratching down her arm or rough hands clawing at her clothes in the back of a car. It's warm and soft and slow and she has to pull away to catch her breath because she's _startled_ by this kind of kiss. She still smirks, though, and hopes it doesn't wobble. ''There,'' she murmurs softly. ''Do I have to do everything for you?''

She doesn't get a chance to laugh breathlessly because he goes towards her, grabs her face and kisses the laughs and the words right out of her.

Lisa Braeden may be Dean's flower and whatnot, but sometimes weeds need a little love too.

.

.

.

_''Please, for just one night, will you lie down next to me, we can leave our clothes on,_  
_we can stay all buttoned up...''_   
**\- wishbone**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE MARK CAMPBELL. There is not enough love for Mark Campbell in the SPN fandom.


	5. Five

**Chapter Five**

_and this is the map of my heart_

.

.

.

_''My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing_  
_for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw,_  
_and this is the map of my heart.''_   
**\- snow and dirty rain**

.

.

.

There are a lot of things he knows.

Cars, classic rock, hunting, pie, literature, pop culture, self-loathing, self-medicating. He knows more about raising kids than most people would think, he knows how to suture a wound, and how to drink just enough so that you forget about your problems but not so much that you're a stumbling idiot drunk, and despite what she may say, he knows quite a bit about Ruby and the things that make her tick.

Of course there are also things he does not know. He doesn't know physics, nor does he care to. He knows the general plotline of basically every romantic comedy out there (because they're all the fucking same) but he doesn't know why those movies are so popular. He doesn't know how to make the perfect omelette or how to play tennis, and he honestly couldn't care less about fine wine. And despite Lisa's best efforts, he does not know yoga.

But somewhere in the middle of what he does and does not know lies the one subject that has always managed to confuse, amaze and frustrate him more than anything else in the big fucking world.

Sam.

Now, Dean knows his brother better than anyone else ever could. He knows his life story, what his childhood was like, his likes, his dislikes, his tells, 55% of his secrets, and that he spends more time on his hair than he will ever admit. However, that doesn't mean there aren't things that even he doesn't know about his brother. Everyone has secrets, you must remember. That is part of what makes us human. Dean has his own secrets. For the longest time, Ruby was one of them. (And it wasn't because he was ashamed of her. It was because when she was a secret, she was his and only his and Sam couldn't touch her.)

Ever since he came back, Sam has been jumbled. Not himself. Hell has done damage that Dean isn't sure can be repaired. That's understandable. But it's more than that. It's something bigger. Something darker. Sam is keeping something hidden away in his mind and Dean is growing more and more concerned with each passing day.

There are a lot of things Dean needs in life.

Sam is at the very top of the list in bright, bold, underlined letters.

.

.

.

Sometime in mid November, Dean calls Ruby at a time when he knows she is with Mark and says he needs to see her.

She has no problem telling him to go do unspeakable acts to himself because she is busy doing those same unspeakable acts with Mark. Until he tells her it's about Sam, that is. Then she drops everything and races to his side. Because Sam's the thread, you should know. Sam's the glue, the stitches, the tape, the child they share custody of. The one person that keeps them together.

A short time later, Ruby is striding through his front door without knocking. Considering he is already on thin ice with Lisa following the whole vampire situation, inviting his ex over for tea probably isn't the wisest idea. Which is precisely why Lisa can never find out about this. Besides, he tells himself, it's not like they're going to do anything anyway.

Dean's heart drops in the strangest way when he sees Ruby, eyes instinctively raking over her dress clad body.

''Okay, Winchester,'' she greets, making her way into the kitchen. ''What did you want to talk to me about?''

''Right now I want to talk about what you're wearing. You look weird. You look... _normal_.''

Ruby rolls her eyes and takes a seat at the counter, pushing away curls to take off her earrings. ''I was on a lunch date, Dean. Which you interrupted, by the way.'' She kicks off her high heeled strappy sandals and crosses one leg over the other, smoothing down her dress. Her black painted nails shimmer in the light. ''You better start talking. You said you wanted to talk about Sam. What about him? Is he all right?''

Dean leans back against the counter and folds his arms over his chest. ''Honestly, I was hoping you would know the answer to that question.''

She eyes him strangely. ''Excuse me?''

He lets out a breath and looks down at the ground briefly. ''Sam doesn't talk to me anymore, Ruby. He hasn't really talked to me in a long time, but now he's got you. And I know he talks to you so can you please just tell me... Is he okay?''

Ruby looks at him for a long time, like she can't decide whether or not to divulge this precious information. After a moment that goes on forever, she stands and pads over to the fridge. ''I don't know where you're getting your information from,'' she deadpans as she rifles through his food. ''But he doesn't tell me nearly as much as you think he does. He keeps it to himself. Must be a Winchester trait.'' She shuts the fridge and opens the freezer, pulling out a pint of ice cream looking like she's hit the jackpot. ''I do know that he's hurting,'' she offers as she plucks a clean spoon from the dish rack and sits back down at the counter. ''Any moron with eyes can see that.'' She shrugs and keeps her eyes on the ice cream. ''Which I get. He's been through a lot.''

Dean sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. ''Yeah.'' The second he closes his eyes, he sees Sam falling into the dark hole. He's been to Hell, true. But there is no way he could ever imagine what it was like for Sam. He opens his eyes, sends a sidelong glance towards Ruby and watches as she shoves a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth only to instantly pull a face. His eyes stray to the ceiling and he does his best to hide the laughter bubbling up in his throat.

''Holy mother of God, this is disgusting,'' Ruby coughs out. ''What the hell is this crap?'' He pushes off the counter without a word, pulling open the freezer. ''Is there bananas in this?'' She scoffs. ''Who puts bananas in ice cream? I - ''

''Hate bananas,'' he finishes for her, placing another tub of ice cream in front of her. ''I know. For future reference, Chunky Monkey has banana ice cream. Try the mint chocolate chip. It's your favourite.'' He can say their relationship, their affair, their fling, their whatever meant nothing until the cows come home, but knowing what her favourite flavor of ice cream is kind of gives him away. She blinks at him, arches an eyebrow and then takes the ice cream he has offered her. As soon as her fingers brush his, he snaps out of his momentary daze and back to the focus of this conversation. ''Now that you're fed and placated,'' he moves around the counter and sits down across from her, ''can we please talk about my brother?'' He asks evenly. ''What are we going to do?''

''We?'' She echoes dubiously. ''There's a _we_ now?''

''Ruby - ''

''Dean,'' she cuts in with a frown. ''Talking isn't going to help Sam. He didn't spend his time in The Pit being carefully cut apart piece by piece. He didn't spend his time doing the cutting either. He spent his time as Michael and Lucifer's favourite yo-yo. Along with your other brother. Remember Adam, Dean? The baby brother you seem to have oh so conveniently forgotten about?''

Something pangs at Dean's heart and he has to grit his teeth. He supposes that is meant to be payback for the dig he made about being ashamed of her. The only difference is that she instantly looks regretful of her words, teeth sinking into her lower lip. Well, he's got to admit she knows how to hurt someone. ''You think I don't think about Adam?'' He bites out bitterly. ''Because I do. He was a kid, Ruby, and he didn't deserve any of what he got but there is nothing I can do for him, all right? He's gone. He's not here. But Sam is and I am not about to lose him to his own warped mind.''

He will admit that he expects more of a reaction from her than what he gets. She cocks an eyebrow and tilts her head to the side. ''You done?''

''Will you just help me talk to him?'' He is seriously this close to begging. He needs to figure out a way to fix Sam and like it or not, Ruby is the person closest to him right about now. She's the only one who can help him. He's really not sure how to take that.

''How far do you think we'll get by ganging up on him?'' She asks.

''Ruby,'' he sucks in a deep breath and meets those blue eyes that have always been able to look right through him like he is a ghost. '' _Please_.''

Usually, it goes like this: He could spend hours trying to wear her down. He could beg and plead until he's blue in the face and she'd still remain stony and indifferent. But today she softens and shuts her eyes briefly before nodding as if his plea has done unimaginable things to her. ''Okay, fine. We'll talk to him. I guess it's better than you confronting him alone and inevitably saying something stupid.'' She leans back in her chair and props her bare feet up on his lap, tilting her head back, eyes on the ceiling as she licks ice cream off the spoon. ''But not today, all right?'' He notes the tired sigh she lets out and files it away. ''I have plans.''

Barely registering what he's doing, his hands move to her bare legs, moving down to her grasp her ankle gently. ''Deal.''

Her eyes light up. His lips twitch. He has to look away. ''Good,'' she chirps. ''Now, eat some ice cream. I hear it's supposed to cure everything.''

She holds out a spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream to him, and he really has no intention of eating it. But then she smiles. Damn it. She'll kill him. One of these days. One of these days, she is going to fucking bleed him dry.

.

.

.

Ever since Ruby has waltzed into their lives with her swagger and smirks, Lisa has been comparing herself to the blonde. It's such a terribly juvenile thing to do. She knows that. But she is so intimidated by Ruby and the relationships she has somehow managed to carve out of thin air and Lisa can't help but wonder. Because wondering has always been something she is extraordinarily good at.

Ruby is something dangerous and wild with a seemingly unbreakable surface and Lisa is ridiculously jealous of that. Is she too plain? Too much of a girl next door type? Too boring? Does Dean need that extra thrill? That tough outer shell? Is danger something he needs to be happy?

Dean comes home to her at night like she is his happily ever after. He kisses her like he means it, runs his hands along her body like she's made of silk, sleeps next to her like that is what he is meant to do and smiles at her like it is what he has been made to do. But it is still so hard to tell if what they have, if what they've built out of the tears and bloodshed of his former life is love. Or just need. Ruby threatens the house of cards she is living in. So you can imagine how jarring it is to come home and find her in the kitchen. Feeding Dean ice cream.

On a Saturday in November when Ben is at hockey practice, she comes home from the grocery store juggling three bags of groceries. And then she turns into the kitchen and very nearly has a coronary. ''Oh!'' Startled, she jumps and nearly drops the groceries. Instantly, Dean pushes Ruby away and stands, jumping away from her like he has just committed adultery. ''Ruby,'' Lisa greets carefully with a hesitant smile. ''Hi.''

''This isn't what it looks like,'' Dean says quickly.

Ruby lazily shoots him an irritated frown. ''What exactly do you think it looks like?'' She questions, taking another spoonful of ice cream. 

''We were talking about Sam,'' Dean says, effortlessly swooping in like a hero to take the grocery bags.

Ruby nods, sliding to her feet and placing the ice cream carton on the counter. She brushes off her dress. Just for the record, Lisa thinks it is incredibly unfair that Ruby can throw on a simple blue dress and slap on some mascara and still look like she's walked off the cover of a magazine while Lisa has to work a little harder. ''Yeah,'' Ruby's saying. ''We were talking about Sam and his Hell issues. Although, to be fair, who here hasn't been down there?'' Then she pauses and slides her eyes to Lisa. ''Except you. You lucky b - '' Dean elbows her. Subtle. '' - uck. Luck buck. Lucky...deer?''

He blinks at her. ''Did you have wine at lunch? Because you know wine goes straight to your head.''

There's a beat of silence in which Ruby stares at Dean with a steady gaze and Lisa wonders if he knows what kind of alcohol goes straight to her head. She thinks he probably does. I mean, he has to, right? It's been a year. He chose her. He should know these things.

''Are we done here?'' Ruby demands impatiently, breaking the awkward silence that hangs in the air. She sweeps her heels off the ground and when she stands straight, she flicks her hair over her shoulder.

''We're done,'' Dean nods, and she could be imagining it but for a second, Lisa swears he says that like it means something else.

''Super.'' Ruby smiles and it lights up her eyes. It’s unfair how beautiful and young looking she is. ''Then I have a date to get back to.'' She leaves without saying goodbye, which seems to be her thing, leaving Lisa staring after her and Dean unloading groceries like nothing happened.

Lisa falters. Then decides to let it go. ''Is Sam all right?'' She asks softly, reaching for a carton of milk the same time he does, their fingers brushing together.

Dean presses his lips together for a fleeting second like he's not sure how to answer that. ''Yeah, he's - He'll be fine.'' He crumples the paper bag in his hands like he is crumpling someone's heart and turns away from her.

She catches sight of a pair of earrings on the counter. Her fingers inch towards the earrings while Dean unloads the second grocery bag. She's not a mean spirited person. She never has been. She's the good girl. She's that little angel on Dean's shoulder while Ruby's the devil on the other side. Lisa has come to accept her role as the perfect wife and mother. Shit, she doesn't even majorly dislike Ruby. But there is something about this whole situation that makes her act like this, desperate and ready for a fight, and as soon as his back is turned, she finds herself quickly sweeping the earrings into the trash. Of course she then instantly feels an unpleasant wave of guilt crash down on her because she's not a bad person and she's not petty. She just wants to _keep_ him.

Is that so bad?

.

.

.

They spend the rest of the afternoon sitting in the stands of the local arena watching Ben's hockey practice. She's got her arm looped through his and her shoulder pressed against his and their knees are touching and it'd be so perfect if she could just stop thinking about the way he looks at Ruby and the way he _doesn't_ look at her. She knows Ruby's seeing someone else now and she shouldn't be so worried, but... There is _something_ going on between those two and it scares her to death.

And it's not in her head. Don't tell her it's in her head because it's not. Ruby is a real threat that shakes their already unsteady foundation and it won't matter in the end how tight Lisa holds onto his arm. It won't matter a bit.

Sooner or later, she's going to lose him.

.

.

.

_''We've read the back of the book, we know what's going to happen._  
_The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left broken in the brown dirt._  
_And then it's gone.''_   
**\- snow and dirty rain**


	6. Six

**Chapter Six**

_you're all i ever wanted_

.

.

.

_''These are the dreams we should be having. I shouldn't have to_  
_clean them up like this.''_  
**- i had a dream about you**

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.

.

She doesn't dream in color. She hasn't for a long time. Even when she's not alone, she still dreams in black and white. Mostly, she dreams about shadows. Only they're not shadows, you see, they're demons and there is only one of them and it's her. It's the demon inside of her, the part of herself she hates, the part she can't outrun. Not even in her sleep. In the history of her dreams of shadow demons chasing her through dark halls and locked doors, she has had four men attempt to comfort her when she wakes up shivering and gasping.

After she clawed her way out of Hell the first time, Josef helped her adjust to being in the bright, shiny world again because that was what family did for each other. When she woke up from her first nightmare, she got a look, a sympathetic deadpan of, ''Yeah, that part sucks, doesn't it?'' and a kiss on the forehead that reminded her of the human Josef she knew when she was a little girl.

In the year that they spent without Dean and with only each other, Sam tried to comfort her with soft sighs and pats on the shoulder, both of which meant more to her than she ever said because Sam means more to her than she has ever said.

Nowadays, it's Mark who comforts her by _not_ asking what's wrong, which is nice because talking about her colorless dreams is not something she believes would _help_ her.

But it's Dean - it's always Dean - who has seen the worst. He's the only one who's seen those shattered bits and pieces that no one else ever will. It's a memory embedded in her mind that can't be washed away by anything. The first time she cried after Hell was with Dean. He dragged her out of an agonizing nightmare while she was shaking and crying and gasping and hating what was inside of her and he knew - he _knew_ better than anyone what it was like to hate what was inside. He had nightmares, too. That year before Hell, he'd claw at himself in his sleep like he was trying to get the evil that wasn't there yet out. It scared her more than she will ever admit.

Since then, nobody has ever been able to comfort her like he used to be able to, and she has grown attached to sleep so she develops a habit of pretending to forget. The shadows she can't run from and the black flames that want to take her back, she wakes up and shakes it off like it never even happened.

Someday she'll push herself to the brink with all of these bottled up emotions.

She is strangely okay with that.

.

.

.

She is pulled out of a dream where she's running from herself one morning by the sound of her cell phone buzzing on the table beside her. There's an arm draped across her waist, she's naked and she gets the feeling that this phone call is going to ruin all of her plans for morning shower sex, which is unfortunate for her. She reaches blindly for the phone, forgets about her dream and forces her eyes open.

Since there is only a handful of people who could be calling her at this ungodly hour, she decides to forego the polite pleasantries and answers the phone with a sharp, ''You're interrupting my post coitus afterglow, you malicious bastard.'' There's a deep, throaty chuckle from beside her and a disgusted groan on the other line. ''Don't _ew_ me, Sam.'' She wonders what he would say if he was aware of the warm fingers curling over her skin under the sheets. ''Sex is a very natural part of - Well, geez, Mr. Crankypants, what the hell crawled up your ass this morning? ...Whoa, dude, calm the fuck down, all right? Don't whine at me. Seriously, I can't understand what you're saying. Slow down.''

It's not uncommon for him to say he needs her help. She's awesome and wonderful and special and shiny. But then he says why he needs her help and she bolts upright, effectively preventing her bedfellow from a) fingering her into morning bless and b) going back to sleep. For a brief moment, all she can do is sit there wondering if Sam is playing some kind of weird joke on her that she doesn't understand. She holds the phone away from her ear, blinks and draws in a breath. ''Seriously?''

And then she's jumping out of bed, apologizing quickly to Mark and stealing the sheets when she stands.

.

.

.

She waltzes into the motel room like she waltzes into any other room. Like it's hers. With her head held high, her sunglasses over her eyes and an extra large coffee in her hand, she is still choosing to believe that this is a joke. It has to be. This isn't a sitcom. These things don't happen in real life. But then her eyes land on Sam, who looks like he's about to pull his hair out and her confidence wavers, chips and falls away along with the smirk on her lips.

Well, holy fucking shit. They've got themselves a baby. Didn't see that one coming.

Naturally, the first thing she does is crack a joke. ''Huh,'' she says, pulling off her sunglasses and putting her coffee down. ''I thought for sure you were smart enough to remember protection, Sparky.''

''You're not funny,'' he snaps.

She shrugs. ''I think I'm funny.'' She eyes the baby he's holding warily and tries not to think about how handy Josef and Adele would come in right now because just thinking about them makes her stomach turn over with wretched guilt. ''Now,'' she leans against a table and crosses her arms. ''I know hunters do some pretty questionable things, but kidnapping is pretty darned illegal. Even for us.'' Sam launches into a full on rambling tale about how he came to have this baby, all the while pacing back and forth while Ruby bites back a warning about how if he doesn't knock it off, he's going to make Baby do the technicolor yawn all over him. ''That's a great story,'' she monotones, pushing off the table. ''Really. It was gripping. I was on the edge of my seat. But why am I here? Can't you just call Dean? He's the domesticated little puppy dog these days.''

''I did. He's on his way.''

''Then why do you need me? Can't you two pull off the whole two and a half men thing on your own? It'll be nice. I'm sure that kid will be down with having two dads. It's the 21st century. Why call me?''

He shuffles, looks down at his feet and doesn't even make a half hearted attempt to throw a retort back in her face about the whole incest joke thing that he normally does not appreciate one bit. ''Well, I, uh, I just called you because... Um...''

She narrows her eyes, takes a step closer and does her best to catch his eye. ''Because why?''

''Just because... You know...''

Oh, hell no. She scoffs and gives him a look that makes him flinch and take a step back. ''It's because I'm a woman, isn't it?''

''What? No! ...Well, yeah. Okay. Maybe a little.'' He's very lucky he's holding a baby, she hopes he knows that. ''Isn't there some kind of maternal instinct?''

''Isn't there some kind of _paternal_ instinct?''

''Apparently not!'' There's that panic again. If he doesn't calm down, that baby is going to freak the fuck out. Babies sense fear. Honestly, that's not one of life's closely guarded secrets. How can he not know this?

She huffs out a breath. If he wanted a fucking mom, why didn't he just call Lisa Braeden? She's perfect, don't you know? ''You know what else stereotypical women know how to do? Besides the childrearing and the washing of the clothes?'' She cuts him off before he can speak by bitch slapping him across the face.

''Ow.'' He heaves a long suffering sigh and rolls his eyes. ''Okay, yeah, I probably should have thought that one through, but since you're here and all, _do_ you know anything about babies?''

She tenses, freezes up and her breath gets lost. She has flashbacks of raising her baby brother and younger sister like they were her own right up until she had to watch them both die, despite her screaming and crying and praying to the darkside. Great. Hundreds of years later and that still hurts like a bitch. _Awesome._ Good to know. ''No,'' she lies smoothly, perching on the bedspread. ''I don't know a thing about babies.'' She offers him a dry, humorless smirk and can't bring herself to look at the baby boy because he reminds her so much of her brother. ''Why would I?''

''Great. Then I guess we wait for Dean.''

''I guess so.'' She has the oddest feeling that he knows she's lying. She crosses one leg over the other, keeps her arms folded across her chest and tries to appear indifferent to this whole situation. It's a valiant attempt. Really, good for her. Applause all around. But then Sam shifts the baby into an awkward position and she visibly twitches, sucking in a breath. He looks at her, she abruptly looks away. He moves the baby into a position that makes her extremely nervous and she's pretty sure he's testing her. Still, she doesn't want to take the risk that he really is that clueless and quickly decides that the safest option here would be to fuck her choice to stay out of this and play house for a day. What's the harm in that? She practically dives for the infant, stealing him from Sam's arms with a glare and settling him comfortably on her hip. ''You're an idiot and I lied.''

''Well, thank god for that. I was entirely out of my element. I felt like Nemo and all I wanted to do was go home.''

She narrows her eyes. ''Have you been drinking?''

''No, but - _fuck_ ,'' he grimaces and touches a spot of drool on his shirt. ''I really _wish_ I was drunk,'' he sighs.

The door slams open, Dean bursts in out of breath and the baby starts to cry. After Sam's story has been told once again, with even more emphasis on how baby clueless he is, and Ruby has calmed down the baby, Dean looks at her, then at the baby and then he smiles. He doesn't _smirk_ , you must understand. He _smiles_. He smiles at her with his arms crossed and there's something in his eyes that she can't quite put her finger on. ''Lookin' good there, mommy.''

She means to say something cruel and unnecessary. That is her intent. But then she looks down at the baby in her arms, softens and turns away from him instead.

He keeps his eyes on her.

.

.

.

''Hey, listen, Wyatt and Chris, does this kid have a name or what? Because if we're just going to go with the standard Junior, I'm going to have to smack your heads together. So, names? Got any suggestions?''

''Bobby.''

''John.''

Dean and Sam stare at each other.

Ruby arches an eyebrow. Oh, so many daddy issues, so little time. ''Wow,'' she drawls. ''Opened up a whole can of worms there, didn't I? Okay then. B.J, it is.'' She snickers and looks down at the baby in her lap. ''Sorry, kid,'' she shakes her head and the baby grabs a fistful of her hair. ''I woulda named you somethin' better.''

Dean scoffs. ''Like what?''

''Matthew.''

It's out of her mouth before she can stop it, and he blanches, focusing his attention back on something else. She smirks hollowly. Apparently, she isn't the only one who remembers her drunken rambles about her brother Matthew and her sister Cecily. Sometimes she forgets he was there too that night to brush away her tears and carry her out of the bar. Not exactly one of her proudest moments. They had one messy tangle of a relationship, didn't they?

Sam looks back and forth between them and then mutters something under his breath about ''fucking idiots.''

''Hey,'' Ruby points a finger at him. ''Don't swear in front of the baby.''

''B.J,'' Dean corrects.

''Matthew.''

''What _ever_.''

.

.

.

A woman comes up to Dean in the supermarket while they're shopping for baby supplies.

That's the beginning of the story.

Sam is at the other end of the aisle staring at the wall of diapers like it's a wall of aliens, scratching the back of his neck and looking hopelessly confused, his eyes wide and glazed over. 

Ruby is a few feet away from Dean as she helps the baby - Bobby, John, B.J, Matthew, Whatever - pick out a teddy bear. She's smiling one of those rare smiles that goes all the way to her eyes and she looks like a natural, holding the baby just right and glowing like all mothers seem to do. Dean is supposed to be picking out formula for the kid, but he's too busy staring. There's a lump in his throat, an unexplainable feeling in his chest and a small sigh escapes his lips before he can stop it.

The baby babbles and giggles, his big eyes turning to Ruby as he reaches for a stuffed penguin with one of those wet, drooly baby smiles on his lips. She throws her head back and laughs, a real, genuine, look-at-those-dimples laugh. 

And Dean's just...

_Fuck_ , man.

Stop _everything._

That's so fucking adorable it should be illegal.

Dean wrinkles his nose. He kind of feels like a dirtbag right now. He's beginning to feel like the villain of his own story. At thirty two years old, he should know better than this.

The baby makes another noise, a string of random vowels it sounds like, and when Ruby murmurs something in the baby's ear and kisses his knuckles when he reaches up to grab a handful of her hair, Dean pretty much stops trying to pretend that if he had ovaries, they wouldn't be exploding right now. A smile he knows is wrong starts on his lips and he stares. Honestly. He's the biggest asshole on the planet, really.

That's where the woman comes in. She's in her late thirties with dark hair and sparkly eyes and there is something in her smile that makes him think she knows something he doesn't. She comes to stand next to him with a small laugh. ''First child?'' She asks softly.

He is honestly stumped by that question. He's not sure how to truthfully answer that. He doesn't even know what the truthful answer to that question is. How fuckin' sad is that?

''It's okay, I can tell,'' she cuts in before he can say a word. ''You've got that slack jawed half amazed, half terrified look in your eyes.'' His throat goes dry. Oh, god, she's so not wrong. ''Don't worry,'' she says kindly. ''You'll get the hang of it. You've got a beautiful family, Dad.'' She pats his shoulder, reaches behind him for a can of formula and then drifts away, leaving him still staring at Ruby.

Eventually, Ruby turns her gaze to him. He pretends he hasn't been staring, turning away quickly and grabbing for a can of formula.

Seriously.

Fuck his life.

Love triangles should not be in style when you're in your thirties. Love triangles should never be in style.

.

.

.

Okay, so.

As it turns out, while the shopping trip was necessary, it may not have been the best move ever because as it turns out, Ruby is a dangerously protective Mama Bear and she has no problem with threatening to punch you in the face if you touch her kid, which... No, to be honest with you, that just causes Dean to be even more enamored with her. 

But also because  _shapeshifters._

Fucking shapeshifters.

.

.

.

If Sam had known he was opening up a really, _really_ messy can of worms by calling both Dean and Ruby to help him with the little tyke situation, he...probably still would have done it. Hey, sometimes cans need to be opened. Plus, nobody should trust the Winchester brothers to look after a baby without supervision. And nobody should _ever_ trust the guy with the newfound pill dependency to look after a kid all by his lonesome.

He's not actually surprised that Dean is relatively okay with babies. It's a pretty unsurprising thing considering Dean's desire for a family of his own. It's Ruby who surprised him. She's clearly a natural mom. She's always given off a sisterly vibe (and doesn't that just make him look back on the days of 2.0 and cringe?) but this is different. He's pretty sure there's a story behind her way with babies. He's also pretty sure it's something delicate and painful that they won't be bringing up ever again.

Sam sees it. He sees the way Dean stares at Ruby with hearts in his eyes when she smiles at that kid. He sees the way Ruby smiles at Dean through her eyelashes when she sees him with that baby. He's ninety five percent sure that if they were both single - or better yet, if they were together - they'd be all for making a baby ASAP because of this incident.

The things they're trying to ignore are pretty easy to see if you know what you're looking for. He knows Ruby is building something with Mark and he knows Dean has perfect all wrapped up in cellophane with Lisa and Ben. Yeah, he fucking knows that. Everyone knows that. Dean and Ruby flaunt Lisa and Mark so much an astronaut can tell from space that there's a twisted ass love square forming down here on earth.

Mark's a nice guy, sure, and Lisa's great. But they're not it. They just _aren't._

He feels a little bit like a child wishing and hoping for his divorced parents to reconcile, and he's well aware that he is perhaps taking all of this love shit just a _tad_ too seriously. But it takes it away, you see. Hell. That place. That cage. Playing matchmaker takes it away in ways the pills can't. It wasn't misogyny that made him call Ruby for help. It was a conscious effort on his part because he knew Dean would melt like ice cream on a summer day the minute he saw Ruby with a baby. Dean may be a little rough around the edges, but he's always gonna be a big softie at heart.

He's doing this out of love. He's doing this to convince himself that even after everything he is still a good man at heart. It's for Dean and Ruby because they either need closure or a new beginning. It's for Lisa and Mark, who deserve people who will love them with their whole heart. He's fixing a portrait that is incomplete. The brush strokes aren't finished; they veer off in an unfamiliar direction, falling off the blank space they're meant to fill. Sam is just trying to bring them back to the canvas.

But one day, it'll end. That's what scares him. Someday, Dean and Ruby will decide who they want to be with. Then where will Sam be? Most likely, he'll be somewhere taking pills with shaking hands and trying to get Hell out from underneath his skin.

.

.

.

It happens very quickly as if it is some kind of cruel joke. On the plus side, it interrupts what could have been one massively awkward moment. That's about the only redeeming quality to this surprising and unexpected turn of events.

Dean has finally managed to get the fussy baby boy down for a nap and Ruby's lying on her stomach on the bed, flipping through a magazine. ''Oh, look,'' she says with a smirk. ''A quiz. Are you honest in bed?'' While Dean frowns, slides his gaze to the heavens and puts the baby in the crib, she looks up for a brief second. ''Well,'' she deadpans. ''Are you?'' He swivels around to face her, but she is carefully keeping her eyes on the magazine. ''Does Lisa know all the kinky shit we used to do to each other?''

He blows out a breath and pours two drinks. ''Does Mark?''

Her fingers still for about half a second, a smirk flickers on her lips and then she turns the page. ''How to avoid getting kicked out of bed,'' she reads. She snorts and flips the page. ''The only time you ever kicked me out of bed was to fuck me on the floor.''

''How is boy wonder anyway?'' He asks, handing her a glass and purposefully ignoring her previous comment.

She sits up and accepts the glass, all without looking at him. ''He's the same age as you, Dean.''

''What?'' He blinks. ''Really?''

''Yep. Guess you just don't age well.''

''...Shut up.''

''Huh,'' she mutters, swirling the alcohol in her glass. ''Tom Cruise just gets uglier and uglier, doesn't he?''

''Are you even aware you're still talking?''

She takes a swallow of her drink without even wincing at the burn. ''You enjoy my rambling.''

He smiles, looks down at the amber liquid in his glass and sends a glance out of the corner of his eye. She's got her head down, her hair is falling in her face, and there is an unmistakable smile starting on her lips. He looks away first because he remembers he can't smile at her like that anymore. A minute passes, and then another and another, and then she tosses her magazine aside and rises to her feet with her back to him. ''Dean,'' she says quietly, running a hand through her hair. ''Can I ask you a question?''

He should probably say, _No, because I won't have an answer that makes sense._ He says, ''Sure'' and leans back against the headboard instead.

She turns around to face him with a completely unreadable look on her face. That unnerves him more than a little. ''How could you not know?'' She asks, hands on her hips.

He gets a sinking feeling in his stomach and lets out a sigh. ''How could I not know what?''

''That it wasn't me. How could you not know?''

He tenses and his grip on the glass tightens considerably. He's asked himself that question so many times it doesn't even make sense to him anymore. It's merely a mess of jigsaw pieces that he can't fit together and when he goes over that year and that person in his head, he knows he should have. He should have known it wasn't her from the beginning. ''Ruby - ''

''I mean...'' She bites down on her lower lip briefly. ''Out of everyone, Dean, you should've known that wasn't me. I told you about my life. I told you what I remembered about being human. I told you about my brother and sister and why I did what I did. I told you _everything_. Even though I knew I shouldn't have. Did you just - Did you just forget about that? Did you forget about me, Dean?'' She doesn't sound angry. He thinks it would be easier if she did. She's speaking softly and there's an undercurrent of pain in her voice that just kills him.

He fears he's going to shatter the glass in his hand soon. He really wishes she were angry. ''Ruby,'' he says again, standing and hoping he will somehow know what to say to her. ''I - '' His cell phone cuts into their awkward conversation, giving him a cowardly out that he instantly takes despite the pit of guilt in his stomach. He trades whiskey for the phone, clears his throat and turns away from her. Out of the corner of her eye, he sees her sit down on the edge of bed and rub her temples. He clears his throat and runs a hand over his face. ''Yeah?''

_''Um...hi.''_

He arches an eyebrow at the sheepish edge to Sam's voice. ''Sam? What's wrong?''

_''Uh, well, the game might have changed a little bit.''_

And then comes one of the most distressing sounds Dean has ever heard.

He whirls around the same time Ruby lifts her head sharply and for a very long moment, neither one of them are sure what to make of this new predicament they have found themselves in. Ruby is the first to shake off the shock, sharing a look with him before she bolts for baby whatever-name-he's-going-by-at-the-moment. Dean, somewhat reluctantly, moves behind her to peer over her shoulder.

''I think the shapeshifter is his dad,'' Sam's saying. Yeah. No shit.

Ruby looks back and forth between the newly dark skinned Bobby John and the baby on the box of diapers. She opens her mouth to speak, closes it and then shakes her head. Yep. Right there with you, darlin'. ''Well,'' she finally says, clasping her hands together. ''There's something you don't see every day.''

''Right.'' Dean throws her a look. ''Unless you're _us_.''

''...True.''

Then she shrugs, picks up the baby and wrinkles her nose at the mess of blood and skin on the wall. ''That,'' she gestures towards it and offers him a bright, sunny smile. ''Is all you.''

.

.

.

_''Lie down on the bed, you're all I ever wanted and worth dying for, too...''  
_ **\- wishbone**


	7. Seven

**Chapter Seven**

_leave me blurry_

.

.

.

_''Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close to focus on._  
_Leave me blurry and fall toward me with your entire body.''_   
**\- snow and dirty rain**

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.

.

She is extremely against this. She wants to make that clear. Aside from her current bedmate, the Campbells are worthless, shifty eyed nothings and she hates them all. She's allowed to say that too, because they've said worse to her. They _hate_ her. She's pretty sure Gwen tried to purposefully trip her once. Of course, Ruby wasn't the one who ended up on the ground but still. That shit doesn't fly with her. Things have only gotten worse since she started dating Mark. The only one besides him who hasn't bombarded her with dirty looks and a general holier than thou attitude is Samuel and that is only because he adamantly refuses to speak to, look at, or acknowledge her in any way, shape or form.

Apart from all that badness, they're also annoying as fuck because they think they know everything. There is nothing worse than a hunter who thinks he or she knows everything there is to know about the business. So, this whole 'let's go to Samuel 'cause he knows everything' crap Sam is trying to sell really doesn't sit well with her. Part of her wants to believe Sam is only on Team Samuel because they have the same name and he must think anyone with that name is made of awesome. Alas, she suspects Sam really is naive enough to trust the old man. Either that or he takes blood family completely fucking seriously.

She's not the only one who isn't a fan of these people, either. Dean practically pouts the entire way there. They have legitimate reasons to be uncomfortable around them. It isn't as if the Campbells are shiny happy people. They're judgy and rude and there is something deeply dark and sinister about Christian Campbell that makes her skin crawl and her internal radar alarms blare. In surround sound.

.

.

.

When they arrive at the Campbell compound, Dean's first instinct is to grab the baby and hold him tight enough to make the kid frown and smack a chest into his chest as if he's offended.

''Somebody's got some trust issues,'' Ruby singsongs.

''Right back at you,'' he throws back.

Because she so vehemently dislikes these people she feels no shame in messing with them a little. They treat her like a dog that needs to be put down, the least they deserve is a little bitchiness. ''Hi, Samuel,'' she greets him with a big, bright smile, beaming from ear to ear. ''How's my favourite grumpy old man? Still discovering the joys of the internet? Hey, you discovered porn yet?'' Everyone turns to look at her. Except Samuel, who is still apparently choosing to pretend she doesn't exist.

Crusty old bastard.

She takes a seat, lets Dean and Sam do the explaining and scans the room that is, unfortunately for her, lacking Mark. When Samuel and Sam leave the room, Dean tenses and Gwen and Christian turn to look at her like they're trying to tell her with their eyes that she doesn't belong here. Frustration boils in her chest and she bites her tongue. She keeps her eyes on Dean. Her eyes move with him as he paces the room, keeping the baby tight against his chest and throwing the occasional _fuck off_ look in the direction of Gwen and Christian if they happen to get too close. She's only watching him because she wants to make sure he's holding the baby right. That's all.

He catches her eye and she focuses her attention on picking at her nails.

''Well, aren't you just the best disguise a monster ever wore?''

Ruby looks up, spots Gwen and rushes forwards to rip the baby out of Dean's arms and away from Gwen before she can even blink. ''Actually,'' Ruby smiles pleasantly. ''I think that's me.''

Gwen's smile turns as cold as ice, her gaze moving from Ruby to Dean and then back to Ruby. ''You know,'' she says slowly. ''I kinda doubt that.''

People better start realizing how lucky they are she's holding a baby. Actually, you know what? People should just stop pissing her off when she's holding a kid and can't drop kick them. It's starting to grate at her nerves. Before she can even shoot a scathing remark back at Loudmouth, there are hands on her shoulders leading her away from Gwen and she's starting to relax against her will. ''Whoa,'' Dean says. ''Calm down there, mama bear. Senseless violence is never the answer.''

''Have you gone nutty?'' She snaps, bouncing the baby when he begins to fuss. ''Senseless violence is _always_ the answer.''

A muscle in his jaw twitches and for some reason, it brings a smirk to her face. It is oddly comforting to know she can still rile him up like no one else can. ''Okay, well, it's not the answer in this case. You piss them off, they _will_ retaliate against you. Why do you think Mark and Sam never leave you alone with them? You're a demon, they're hunters. Pretty friggin' rabid hunters from what I understand. I'm pretty sure that if they were left alone with you, they'd probably try to set you on fire. Not to mention, do you really want to expose Bobby John to violence at such a young age? That kind of thing can scar a kid for life, trust me on that one.''

She purses her lips and lets out a sigh. Unfortunately, he's probably right. Senseless violence against these people is not a great idea. No matter how fun it would be. Great. So they can treat her like dirt and she can't do anything about it? That's awesome. Because it's not like she's got a whole mess of people treating her like crap. Oh, wait. ''Fine,'' she mutters dejectedly, still trying to calm the increasingly agitated baby. ''I won't kill Gwen. As long as you keep that bitch away from me and BJ.''

''Only if you put a lid on the swearing and the name calling in front of him. I know you don't like these people, but you need to _cool it_. And stop calling him BJ. I've realized it only makes me think of extremely impure acts.''

''What? Oh.'' She wrinkles her nose in disgust and reaches out with her free hand to smack him. '' _Ew_ , Dean.''

Bobby John goes from mildly fussy to irritated to downright cranky in the span of about eight seconds, letting out a high pitched wail that has both Dean and Ruby recoiling. ''Wow,'' Dean rubs at his ear. ''Hello, newfound respect for ear plugs.''

Bouncing and shushing is not working for this kid at all and the tears are starting to come out full force, dripping down his cheeks at a startling pace. ''Maybe he's hungry,'' she muses out loud. ''Where did you put the - ''

''He knows you're upset,'' Dean cuts in, reaching out to rub Bobby John's back. ''Babies aren't stupid. They're more aware than you realize. He can sense you're pissed off and tense, therefore he's expressing his concern the only way he knows how. Take a deep breath. Try to relax. Seriously, he's giving me a headache.''

When the tears subside and she calms down, she looks at Dean carefully. There's a smile starting on her lips that she can't let out, stifling it with a smirk and a scoff. ''I'm not sure which is more surprising,'' she says. ''The baby knowledge or the fact that you just used therefore in a sentence. Gotta say, I'm thinking it's the second one.'' She expects some kind of witty crack at her intelligence in response. He laughs under his breath and turns away from her instead.

And on that peaceful note, things then go to hell.

_Naturally._

Sam and Samuel come traipsing back into the room looking serious. Ruby tries to ignore Samuel the way he consistently ignores her, running a hand over Bobby John's head and shushing him gently when he makes a small noise of discontent. She shifts him onto her hip and offers him a small smile. ''I know,'' she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear. ''I don't like him either.''

Then there's this:

''Dean, let me see the little guy.''

Ruby stiffens and her teeth clench together. She glides farther away from Samuel in case he decides to do something stupid like make a grab for the baby. Dean lets out a small bark of laughter tinged with bitterness, folding his arms across his chest. ''Do you think I'm holding the baby? Because I'm not. You want him, ask Ruby. You do know who that is, don't you?''

Samuel actually huffs at that, eyes clouding over with displeasure. He levels his gaze on Dean like he's trying to tell him he can't do this because in his blissful world of black and white, shades of gray like Ruby don't exist. Dean, however, seems fairly amused by his grandfather's visible discomfort. He grins, eyes twinkling as he bounces on the balls of his feet. When Dean doesn't back down, Samuel slowly shifts his attention to Ruby, avoiding her searching eyes at all costs as he grinds out her name, looking thoroughly disgusted with himself for daring to converse with a filthy demon. ''Ruby, can I see - ''

''Nope. Fuck off.''

She's not tactful. Sue her.

Her blunt reaction accidentally sets the rest of them off like bottle rockets. Right. _Accidentally._

Christian moves toward Ruby. Dean steps in front of her with a perfectly pleasant smile. That really must rile Christian up because he then decides to pull out the verbal smack down. Sam steps in between like he's trying to be a hero, shoving them away from each other. ''Hey, you two want to do this, you do it on your own time. We have a mini-shapeshifter on our hands, all right? Now is not the time for macho pissing contests.'' Sam frowns at Dean and Christian, sends a brief yet lingering glance towards Ruby and then turns his attention back to Samuel like he's waiting for orders.

Ruby is beginning to wonder if Sam is trying to replace Dean or John with Samuel. He has something that Sam seems to respect and need. She's not sure she likes that. Actually, she's pretty fucking positive she doesn't.

''Samuel, what's your plan?'' Sam keeps his voice calm, placing himself in between Samuel and everybody else. ''What are we gonna do with him?''

''Raise him.''

It's safe to say that's not going to get a positive reaction out of the Winchester brothers. The entire reason they're so unbelievably fucked up is because they were raised by a hunter. ''Okay,'' Sam deadpans. ''That's a stupid plan.''

However, it's Dean who seems to take Samuel's plan as some kind of personal assault on him. His expression goes sour and Ruby quickly determines that the way he's clenching and unclenching his fists can only mean he is about to emotionally implode in a very big way. She takes a step back out of self preservation. ''You know what? I'm starting to understand why Mom wanted to get away from you so badly.'' Dean throws the insult at Samuel like it's nothing and an uncomfortable silence coats the room. Ruby sighs heavily and lifts her eyes to the ceiling. Oh, those Winchester boys. Always so volatile. ''He's just a kid,'' Dean continues, either unaware or uncaring of the hurt look in Samuel's eyes that says he might have gone a little too far with that comment. ''He's just a baby. He doesn't deserve to - ''

''Well, what kind of life is he going to have if he doesn't grow up to be a hunter?'' Christian butts in, lips twisted into an ugly sneer. ''It's not like he can ever be normal. He can't control what he is or what he does. He's a monster. He's a fre - ''

''You stop right there,'' Dean warns in a growl.

Ruby purses her lips and looks down at the baby. When he peers up at her inquisitively, she can barely manage to scrounge up a half smile in response like she's trying to comfort him. It really fucking sucks that Creepy Christian over there is right. This little boy is never going to have a normal life. That seems so unfair. He's just a baby. It's not like he asked for this.

''He'll have a choice, Dean,'' Samuel says softly, obviously still stinging from Dean's earlier jab. ''It's not like we're going to force the kid into hunting. When he's old enough, he'll have a choice.''

Dean laughs humorlessly. ''Don't you get it? He'll never have a choice. If he's raised around all of this shit, it will be _all_ he knows. He'll barely be able to breathe underneath all of this let alone find a different way to go. And then he'll end up like this. Like _us_.''

Ruby turns her gaze to Sam. He's looking down at his hands strangely, as if he can't believe they’re his own. There's an odd sort of silence that hangs thick in the air like fog, only broken when Gwen decides to speak up.

''Just so you know,'' she starts, voice both soft and a little offended. ''Not all hunters grow up to be as screwed up as you, Dean. Look at me.'' Everyone looks at her like she has two heads. Out of everyone, only two people have visible reactions. Christian grins widely, locking eyes with her, and Ruby fails horribly at keeping her hysterical laughter in. Gwen scowls. ''Oh, screw you guys.''

''Look,'' Ruby steps in between Dean and Samuel before anymore damage, emotional or otherwise, can be done. ''The bottom line is, any plan you morons come up with is going to have to go through me. Remember I'm the one holding the baby here, and I am not letting anyone touch him unless one of you can come up with a fucking reasonable plan. I'm serious,'' she throws a look over her shoulder towards Gwen and Christian. ''Test me. Come at me. See how far you get.''

The door opens and all eyes slowly shift to the newcomer tensely. Mark stops in his tracks when he sees Ruby. He looks at Ruby. Looks at Dean. Looks at the baby. At the Campbells and Sam. Then back to Ruby. ''Huh.''

In response, she jabs a finger in his direction. ''Take my side in this or I will not go down on you ever again.''

He pauses, blinks, then lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. ''Good argument.''

''I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,'' Dean comments needlessly. Then, under his breath, he adds, ''She does do that thing with her tongue though.''

''Wow,'' Sam blinks several times and then rubs at his eyes, shaking his head in order to get those mental images away. ''Ew.''

''So.'' Ruby looks down at the baby. ''Anyone have any helpful solutions? Or are we all just gonna stand here until I finally snap and beat on you all?''

.

.

.

If Josef and Adele were still around, Ruby would not hesitate before offering them the little creature. They had been trying for a baby on and off for four years (they even had a nursery in their house) and they would understand Junior's unique little ability. They'd give him a good home. A good life. She has to stop to breathe. Guilt is a fine winding emotion that curls around her beating heart and squeezes until her lips are blue. Yes, Josef and Adele would have been a perfect fit for this kid.

But Josef and Adele aren't here, are they?

That's really too bad, because what other option does this baby have? He is either raised to be a hunter or by his psychotic biological father. It's clearly a situation that hangs over their heads. What are they going to do with this kid? It's quite the pickle they're in.

However, not one Ruby has to worry about, as it turns out, because when she goes to get the bottle from the car after leaving specific instructions for no one but Dean to hold the baby, this happens: A hand reaches out of nowhere in a dark hallway, wraps strong, nimble fingers around her wrist and yanks her flush against an unfamiliar chest. She looks up, meets Christian Campbell's eyes and wrenches free of his grasp to back away from him. Ugh.

_I'm pretty sure that if they were left alone with you, they'd probably try to set you on fire,_ Dean's voice says in her head. Oh, yeah. Super. Because that is _just_ what she needs. She crosses her arms and sighs impatiently, looking around to make sure there isn't anything flammable in the room. ''What do you want?'' She's really hoping he won't try to kill her. That'd be bad.

But then he grins. A full on shit eating grin that makes her shudder. Then, because her life sucks, she watches his eyes turn black. Of course. His eyes are endless black oil puddles. The smile on his face only makes him that much more sinister. _I knew it,_ she wants to scream, doing her best not to react. _I knew he was too creepy to be human_.

He looks at her, tilts his head to the side and says, ''Crowley wants to see you.''

She swallows.

.

.

.

Her opinion on Crowley is infinitely different than his opinion on her.

He thinks she's a plaything. She gets that. She'd argue, but the sad thing is that it's true. She pretty much is nothing more than a toy these days. But if she's a well used Tonka Truck who's been rode hard and put away wet then he's a soulless black hole. A swirling mass of unknown dark matter that sucks you into deep dark nothingness if you get too close. Unfortunately for her, she got way too close when he decided to make her his by pulling her out of the pit and using that against her.

It's not that she didn't try to fight back, however half hearted her attempts may have been. It's not like she _wanted_ to be sitting here in what can only be described as a dungeon with demon guards watching her like she's cable TV. For the record, she did make an effort to fight off demon Christian when he grabbed her arm, but when she turned around to leave there was another demon standing there blocking her exit and she's learned it is never wise to run from Crowley for too long.

She can remember a time when she was less pathetic, you know. She can remember a time when she had all the free will she ever wanted. Good times. They were a lot less stressful. She crosses one leg over the other, drums her fingers on her knee and listens to the slightly ominous sound of water dripping in the distance. Drip, drip, drip. She knows this tactic. Hell, she's used this tactic. You put your subject in a dark room all alone, make them wait and eventually they start to crack a little.

Well, you know what? Crowley can do many things to her, but he can't get under her skin like this. She presses her lips into a thin line and stays stone cold as she stares at the wall and starts to count. After awhile, she begins to lose count because the dripping water sounds as loud as gunshots, it's getting hard to keep her breathing even and the determined line of her mouth is faltering. She squeezes her eyes shut and thinks about getting out of here.

In the end, it's her own mind that turns against her because as it turns out, she can only think of Mark and Sam and little Bobby John for so long before her mind drifts to Dean.

Drats.

.

.

.

_Ruby stumbles out of the Impala, patting down her disheveled hair and buttoning her jeans. The car door slams and Dean's laughter floats through the air as he shrugs on his jacket. ''Well,'' he says, breath hanging in the cool night air. ''Somebody looks like they just got laid.''_

_She slides her gaze to him and lets her own laugh slip through her dry, swollen lips. ''Right back at you. C'mere.'' Instead of moving over to her, he leans back against his car and pulls her to him by the belt loop on her jeans. She starts to fix his terribly buttoned shirt, smiling and shaking her head like he's hopeless and should feel oh-so-happy he found her, the lucky man._

_''Is that a smile I see?'' He asks, roaming hands slipping up her shirt. ''Why, Ruby, are you starting to like me?''_

_''Nope. Not at all.'' She smirks and places her hands flat against his chest when she's satisfied with his shirt. ''I still think you're an idiot. Are you starting to like me?''_

_''Fuck no. I don't like you at all.'' His hands move south and he lowers his lips to hers, biting down on her bottom lip._

_''Dean,'' she warns. ''It's late.''_

_''Yes, but I'm a night owl,'' he murmurs against her neck. ''I think I might be nocturnal.''_

_''Okay, well, I already can't walk properly. I think you've done your job.''_

_''I am a sex god,'' he agrees, pulling away. ''Somebody told me that once.''_

_''Your left hand?''_

_''Don't be ridiculous,'' he scoffs. ''...I'm right handed.''_

_She rolls her eyes. ''Moron.''_

_''Don't be a bitch.''_

_She shrugs, tossing a bright smile up at him. ''It's in my nature.''_

_''Know what's in my nature?'' He asks, bringing his lips back down to her neck. ''Sex.''_

_''We had sex.'' She laughs and lets her arms wind around his neck as he nips at her neck. ''Do you even remember how this started?'' She asks quietly. ''This thing we're doing here? Do you remember how it started?''_

_''Sure.'' He pulls away from her with a shrug and a cocky smirk. ''I said, 'let's fuck.' You said, 'okay', took your shirt off, and told me to get naked.''_

_''Right.'' She nods and licks her lips. ''That was a good night.''_

_Okay, let's be honest here: She still has no idea how she got here. One minute they're deeply in hate and the next they're secret fuck buddies with little to no recollection of how they got from point A to point B because really, 'let's fuck' only goes so far. They should probably still hate each other. It'd be in their best interest to at least pretend they hate each other. But hate has slowly but surely turned into only mild dislike over the past few months and she is honestly not sure what her reaction to that should be._

_His lips colliding with her own peel her out of her thoughts and she kisses back feverishly, running her fingers through his hair. He pulls away eventually, after biting her lip again and licking the blood off her teeth. ''You should get back to your brother,'' she whispers, licking away the rest of the blood and fixing the collar of his jacket. She's not sure what it is, but something about what she's said or done makes him beam. Maybe it's the tender way she fixed his collar or the soft tone of her voice. She doesn't know what the precise reason is; she just knows that whatever it is, it lights up his eyes and makes them sparkle like the stars in the sky. ''What?'' She asks breathily, trying unsuccessfully to look away from his gaze. ''Why are you looking at me like that?''_

_''Oh, Ruby,'' he laughs and shakes his head. She can't quite manage to fight off the shivers that run up and down her entire body when he brushes hair out of her eyes. ''You're falling in love with me, aren't you?''_

_All at once, her breathing speeds up and her heartbeat races. She sucks in a breath of air that doesn't reach her lungs and shoves him away from her, backing away. ''Is that what you think?'' She sneers. ''You think you're going to fuck me into falling for you? You think I actually care about you?'' She snorts and crosses her arms. ''You don't mean anything to me, Dean,'' she snarls out viciously. ''None of this does. The only person I care about is myself. You're just...convenient.''_

_He lacks the reaction she had been hoping for, smiling calmly and pushing off the car. He leans down to press a kiss to the side of her head gently. She shudders lightly and hopes he doesn't notice. ''I'll see you, sweetheart,'' he promises. His fingers ghost over the back of her hand and she closes her eyes. He's gone when she opens her eyes._

_Those damned Winchester boys. You could drown in them._

.

.

.

Ruby tears herself out of the memory violently, biting down hard on her tongue and digging her nails into the palm of her hand. She gulps in a desperate breath of stale air and slowly lets it out through her mouth. These are the memories she is trying to outrun. It's a pity they keep finding her. She takes in a few more breaths and does her best not to think.

''Hello, kitten.''

She lifts her gaze to watch Crowley stroll into the room like he thinks he's a king. His business smile is firmly in place, there's deep frustration glinting in his eyes, and a manila folder in his hands. This meeting is formal. It's not personal, it's business. Except it's _always_ personal and she can tell she's about to get berated and belittled again. As if that doesn't happen enough.

''So sorry to keep you waiting,'' he apologizes, putting the folder down. The slant of his lips tells her he's not sorry at all.

''What...'' She clears her throat, tensing almost unnoticeably. Crowley's smile turns into a smirk. ''What do you want?''

''Lots of things,'' he answers evasively, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. ''But at the moment, Ruby, I'm not in the mood for your games.'' He looks at her closely and she shrinks back like a damsel in distress when he looms over her like an evil dragon. It's too bad she doesn't have anything close to a prince. ''When I ask you to do something, I expect you to do it.''

Her heart drops to her stomach. ''And I do,'' she responds calmly. ''You know that.''

''No,'' he shakes his head and sighs, looking thoroughly disappointed in her. ''I don't.''

''I do what you ask me to do,'' she snaps out bitterly. ''I don't have a choice, remember? I'd have to be suicidal not to.''

Crowley takes a step back and stares at her like he's trying to see through her. ''Right now,'' he begins softly. ''Your heartbeat is erratic, your breathing is labored, your palms are sweaty, and I am willing to bet your temperature has even spiked. Am I right?'' When she doesn't answer, he smiles and takes a seat next to her. ''I'm right. And it's all because you lied to me, isn't it? Now, tell me something because I don't understand; why would you lie to me? After everything I've done for you, why would you lie?'' She is biting down on her tongue so hard she's terrified she's going to bite it right off. She so badly wants to tell him what she really thinks of him and what she really wants to do to him, but her self-preservation instinct is out in full force. ''Why would you tell me you killed them? Why would you tell me you killed them when all you did was help them escape?''

She fights for her composure, cracking her knuckles and pretending it's his skull. ''I don't know what you're talking about.''

''Please don't embarrass yourself by lying to me any further, Ruby. I know what you did. You told them to run, didn't you? You told them to pack up their lives and run from big bad me. Change their names, their hair color, their jobs, their fake life stories. Well, they slipped up in Minnesota, darling.''

The world tips on its axis. Air won't reach her lungs. She opens her mouth to deny, deny, deny but no words come out.

''In actuality, sweetheart - ''

''Don't you  _ever_ call me sweetheart.''

'' - They weren't awfully hard to find,'' Crowley continues conversationally, ignoring her outburst and plucking the folder from the nearby grimy tabletop. ''I think they're losing their edge. They used to be good at being invisible. It seems they got so used to being normal that they forgot how to run. Well, for the most part. I will admit that I only managed to catch one of them. That uncle of yours is a slippery little buggar.'' When he laughs under his breath, Ruby thinks she might throw up. ''But Addie,'' he clicks his tongue and takes a glossy picture out of the folder. ''Sweet, motherly Adele. She was an easy kill.''

He hands her the photograph in his steady hands and she tries, but she can't manage to control her reaction to that. She pales, her vision blurs and a strangled gasp bubbles up in her throat. She presses a hand to her lips and can't decide if it's to stifle a cry or keep the bile in. He tosses her a smile when she lifts her horrified, glassy gaze back up to him. ''One of these days,'' she rasps out. ''You're going to push me too far, Crowley, and I'm going to kill you. Regardless of the consequences.''

''No, you won't.'' He takes a seat next to her again, their shoulders bumping together. ''You're headstrong and strong willed, but deep down you are just as afraid to die as any other human out there.'' He snatches the picture from her hands, studies it with a careful frown and a head tilt and then clears his throat. ''See,'' he jabs his index finger at something in the left corner. ''That right there is her kind and gentle heart. Those are her entrails and _waaay_ over there is her body. She survived it all, of course, and she was even conscious for most of it. From what I could understand, the last thing she said was something along the lines of, 'you're going to pay for what you're doing to her' because she really did love you like her own. Although, it was difficult to understand on account of the blood she was choking on. For all I know she could have spent her last moments blaming you and telling me you were going to pay. I don't know. There was lots of gurgling. And who do we have to blame for that?'' He starts to point at himself only to change direction and point at her with a smirk she nearly drowns in. ''I gave you the chance to make it quick and relatively painless. You didn't take it. You only have yourself to blame for all the pain she went through.''

He reaches over to grasp her hands. There is something akin to obsession and infatuation in his eyes when he looks at her and it's odd, but in a sick and twisted way, she thinks he is trying to comfort her. If she could kill him, she'd kill him slowly. ''I cannot imagine how painful it must have been to be torn apart like that,'' he tells her. She can barely hear him over the roaring in her ears. ''But the next time you disobey me,'' his grip on her hands tightens painfully until she can't help but wince. She still doesn't make a sound. ''I will find Josef and do the same thing to him and I will make you watch.''

And that's it. She snaps like a fucking twig. ''Go to hell,'' she bites out, twitching under his grasp.

His nails dig into her skin until she's sure they're going to leave marks. ''And if that still doesn't work,'' he continues effortlessly. ''Then I'll just have to track down that boy of Dean's and take him apart piece by piece. What is his name again? ...Ben?'' When she flinches, he yanks her roughly to her feet and pulls her much too close to him, still gripping her wrists tightly. Her first instinct is to kick and squirm. She swallows that down and stays still instead. ''Do not forget why you're here,'' he hisses in her ear. ''You're here to be mine. Do you understand?''

Even though she is deeply disgusted with herself in this humiliating moment, she nods.

''Good.'' He shoves her away from him and claps his hands together. ''Now get out. I don't want your tears. They're useless to me.''

She stumbles away from him like he's made of hellfire and she's horribly burned. She rubs at her sore wrists with a sigh, chokes down the urge to cast one last look at the picture of Adele and turns to leave.

''Oh, and don't tell anyone about Christian,'' he calls after her. ''I have plans for that boy.''

She pauses in the doorway, closes her eyes and then she squares her shoulders and leaves. She's known from day one that if Dean and Sam ever find out about her relationship with Crowley, they'll think she's evil and kill her. She's beginning to wonder if it would be the worst thing.

.

.

.

Once she's outside in the fresh night air, everything catches up to her.

The cold air stings her watery eyes and tickles her throat, chest heaving unsteadily as she struggles for breath. When she lets herself think, all she can see in her head is Adele's corpse, gutted and bloody. Then she thinks of Josef and Ben and how very _not_ idle those threats were.

Since she won't allow herself to cry, she leans over and throws up instead.

.

.

.

Her day doesn't end there. In what universe would things be that easy? No, her day is unfortunately far from over.

When she finally drags herself home to the apartment that - goddamn it - _Crowley_ has provided her with because he needs to keep her comfortable like she's some kind of fucking mistress, there are two brothers waiting outside of her door. One has pity in his puppy dog eyes and worry in the curve of his mouth. The other is grim faced, set in stone and can't let himself look her in the eyes because he's a coward.

She has a momentary lapse of judgment where she nearly has a panic attack because she thinks they know about Adele. It lasts three seconds before she realizes that's crazy. They don't know. They don't know anything.

Dean pushes off the wall when he lays eyes on her, stalking towards her. She focuses her gaze on the ground because she knows she's still shaky and she'd flinch if he touched her. Oh, great. She's turning into a battered woman. That's just what she needs to make her life complete, really. Even his footsteps sound frustrated. ''Where the _hell_ have you been?''

She lifts her eyes from the ground - there's a gum wrapper by Dean's shoe and a suspicious red stain by the door of her neighbor's apartment - and she gets the feeling he'd go off on a tangent if the look in her eyes didn't terrify him just a little bit. ''Sorry,'' she says tonelessly. ''Something came up.''

Dean grasps her elbow when she moves past him. She shakes it off.

''Ruby,'' Sam starts. ''There's - There's something we need to tell you.''

''Is it about the baby?'' She asks tiredly. ''Is he okay? Where is he?''

Sam grimaces. Dean tightens his jaw. That can't add up to anything good. ''Okay. Two things.''

.

.

.

It goes like this:

As soon as they're inside, Dean goes off on how unsafe this neighborhood and apartment is. It's a rant that could almost be seen as protective, but she's pretty sure he's just trying to get a reaction out of her increasingly emotionless self. It doesn't work. And then Sam sits her down, explains that the shapeshifter daddy came and took little baby Blowjob or what the fuck ever away and it startles her how she can't manage to care. She's Ruby. She's supposed to care. That's her whole shtick. She _cares._ But her head is still spinning and she has handprints on her wrists and she figures she can care tomorrow. There's something else that Sam isn't telling her. Something potentially bad and heartbreaking, she can see it in his eyes.

When he fumbles, Dean pushes him out of the way, takes a seat across from her, brushes a hand over her knee (and he shouldn't do that, it makes everything hurt so much) and very plainly informs her that Mark is dead.

Well, yes. Of course Mark is dead. Everybody around her dies, don't they? It doesn't fully compute because she's not at her best (clearly), but when it does sink through all the way to her bones, all she can think of to say is, ''Oh.''

Dean and Sam look profoundly startled, looking at each other. ''Ruby,'' Dean tries to meet her eyes. ''Did you hear what I said?''

''Yes, I heard what you said,'' she snaps. ''I'm not deaf. Mark's dead. I had my reaction. _Oh_.''

Pathetic, isn't it? _Oh._ That's all she can say? Those are the deep inner workings of her mind? Laughter that isn't laughter rises in her throat and escapes until Dean and Sam share another secret look that makes her want to roll her eyes. Laughter turns into tears which turn into nausea which transforms into orders for them to get the fuck out.

Sam is quick to agree. Dean scoffs and says, ''Fuck you. I'm not going anywhere.''

''Don't play hero, Dean,'' she fires back. ''I don't need one.''

''You filthy, filthy liar.''

''You seem to think I'm Lisa. I'm not Lisa, Dean. Go be her hero. She seems like the kind of person who'd throw themselves in front of a train just to be saved.'' It's cruel and false as hell, but it works. Dean's eyes flash with anger and offense on Lisa's behalf, and Ruby actually begins to think she's in the clear. ''I'm not that person. I'm fine. I feel fine. People die. Life sucks and then someone brutally murders you. It's the way the world works. So go home because I feel fine. I feel _fine_.''

''Just because you say it a million times doesn't make it true.''

When he reaches forwards like he wants to touch her, she locks herself in the bathroom until they leave her the fuck alone.

Mark's dead. Adele's dead. The baby's gone. Sam's pulling away from her. Josef's missing. Dean's got happily ever after in a box with Lisa. Crowley is still forcing her to be his bitch. And she is beginning to wonder why she's still here.

_Oh._

.

.

.

_''Every morning the same big_  
_and little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out_  
_You will always be alone and then you will die.''_   
**\- litany in which certain things are crossed out**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I don't think I mentioned this, but:
> 
> Josef = Alex O'Loughlin  
> Adele = Bethany Joy Lenz


	8. Eight

**Chapter Eight**

_burn the straw house down_

.

.

.

_''And I can't eat, can't sleep, can't sit still or fix things and I wake up and I wake up and you're still dead,_  
_you're under the table, you're still feeding the damn dog, you're cutting the room in half._  
_Whatever. Feed him whatever. Burn the straw house down.''_  
**\- straw house, straw dog __  
**

.

.

.

Ruby doesn't do grief like normal people do grief. Dean knows this. When she is in pain, she turns it off. She doesn't just turn her grief off. No, that would be too simple. She turns _everything_ off. Logic and common sense are parts of everything. It gets to her, crawls under her skin because she hates not feeling and usually it all boils down to copious amounts of alcohol and the screams she can't keep inside. All of this and so much more is why he is not entirely shocked when he receives a drunk dial in the middle of the night on a Saturday.

When he's with Lisa, he's asleep by midnight. It's like clockwork.

It makes him feel old and bored. And that makes him feel guilty. Which keeps him awake. It's a vicious cycle he's living. It is one thirty and he's staring at the ceiling when his cell phone vibrates quietly on the night stand. He grabs the phone, half hopes there's a scary monster he needs to hunt, and glances over at Lisa. ''Hello?''

_''Would you miss me?''_

He stills and can't make out the words for the longest time because he's busy staring at Lisa like a guilty as fuck bastard. ''What?'' He finally manages to choke out. ''Ruby, _what?''_ His voice sounds weak even to his own ears. He has to close his eyes.

_''Would you miss me?''_ She asks again. It takes him a moment to realize she's crying. He hasn't heard her cry in a long time. There's an unwelcome flutter in his chest that he hates. _''Dean, would you miss me if I was gone?''_

''You're drunk,'' he breathes out, slipping out of bed.

_''I'm scaring you,''_ she states. _''I don't mean to. It's just... It hurts, Dean.''_

''What?''

_''Everything. Everything hurts. It doesn't stop. It won't stop.''_

He scrubs at his tired face and doesn't sigh, no matter how much he wants to. ''Where are you?''

Silence.

''Ruby, tell me where you are. I'll come and get you.''

_''You shouldn't. Lisa...''_

He looks over his shoulder and watches Lisa's chest rise and fall peacefully before moving out into the hallway. ''This isn't a booty call, Ruby. You're _drunk._ How else are you going to get home? Friends don't let other friends drink and drive. All that shit.''

_''We're friends?''_

''...Just tell me where you are.''

.

.

.

He finds her lonely and broken at a bar near him. Not near Sam, which would at least make a little more sense since she and Sam are apparently BFF's now. Nope. She's near _him._ He doesn't let himself think about what that means.

The sorry excuse for a bar she's in is dark and dirty and smoke hangs in the air like a curtain. Dirty men with rough hands, beer guts and rowdy laughter leer at her with beady eyes and yellow teeth. The bartender polishes a glass that won't ever get clean and immerses himself in a conversation with a waitress. Their eyes continuously flick to Ruby. The waitress at least has the decency to look concerned. The bartender looks mostly disgruntled. Dean can live in the suburbs for as long as he wants, but bars like this are still home. Places like this made him.

He rakes his eyes over Ruby, purses his lips and pinches the bridge of his nose. She's tracing patterns in spilled alcohol on the dirty bar top and her elbow is resting on the bar with her head in the palm of her hand. Her blond hair tickles the counter top and hides her face from view. Isn't this a pretty picture? ''Ruby.'' He slides onto the barstool next to her and doesn't think before he places a hand on her knee. By the time he remembers it's bad to touch her, he already can't let go.

She straightens ever so slightly at his touch and slides her eyes to his briefly. She gives him a smile that is a little bit out of it and dazed. It surprises him that she hasn't even bothered to wipe the tears from her cheeks. ''Always gotta be the hero, don't you?''

He drums his fingers on the surface of the bar. ''The answer is yes, by the way,'' he says, after a short lapse of silence. ''I would.'' He turns to meet her eyes. ''Miss you. I want you to know that.''

''Really?'' She smiles sadly and goes back to tracing patterns that don't mean a thing. ''Because sometimes you look at me like I'm going to disappear.''

He hopes he doesn't pale at the thought of her disappearing. That would give him away, don't you think? He reaches out to take a hold of the hand that is drawing meaningless pictures of nothing into the grime. ''Sometimes I'm afraid you might.''

''It feels like I am,'' she admits. ''It feels like I'm starting to disappear. I'm not, am I? I'm still here?''

He swallows something that isn't a sigh and is a sigh, and squeezes her hand because he doesn't know what else he can do. ''You're here,'' he confirms. ''You're here with me.''

Her eyes go to the ceiling like she's praying for forgiveness and he watches tears slip out of her eyes. ''If I told you I didn't love him would you hold it against me?''

''It's not like you two had been dating for years, Ruby. You barely knew each other.''

''But he's dead!'' She sniffles and ducks her head, wiping at her eyes. ''He's dead, Dean. I feel like I should've...'' She trails off and her teeth sink into her lower lip. ''I feel like I should have loved him. I feel like I should have been there to save him.'' She shakes her head miserably. ''I can't save anyone.'' He watches her for a moment, lips curving downwards into a frown. Mark Campbell is not the sole reason for her binge drinking. ''I _could_ have,'' she says confidently. ''I could have loved him.'' Her lips tremble dangerously when she looks at him, like it physically hurts her to look at him. ''I could have loved you, too,'' she says softly. ''I could have loved you... _forever_.''

She's drunk, he tells himself. She's just drunk.

''I figured it out, you know,'' she whispers. ''You and Lisa.'' This time, when she smiles at him it's bitter and regretful at the same time and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. ''She's a good girl. Beautiful, soft, kind. And she waits. She waits for you. I think she'd wait a lifetime for you, Dean.''

''Would you?'' It's out of his mouth before he can stop it and it leaves him wincing and wishing he had a filter for his goddamned mouth.

''No,'' she answers bluntly. ''I'm no good at waiting.'' She locks eyes with him and for a brief second, fire glints in her eyes. ''I'd have to follow you.''

His breath catches.

She's drunk, he tells himself again. She's drunk and grieving. That's all. Neither of them says a word and instead they listen to the chatter around them for an unbearable amount of time. And then her eyelids flutter shut and a breath passes through her lips. ''Dean...''

''Yeah?''

''It's always gonna be there, isn't it?''

He eyes her closely; watches her tremble. If she starts to fall away, he'll have to catch her. Just like old times, huh? ''What?''

''Us,'' she says. ''Me and you. We'll always be unfinished. Undiscovered. And we'll always end up here. Won't we?'' When he doesn't answer, her voice raises slightly, cracking and breaking as crystalline tears gather in her eyes. _''Won't we?''_

''...I don't know.'' There's something that feels a lot like hysteria growing in his chest and he's remembering all of those things he shouldn't be remembering and he _doesn't know_. He wishes he did. ''Ruby, I don't... I don't know.''

A ragged sob leaves her lips and then she's grasping his hand with one hand and clawing at his knee with the other. ''But tell me you care,'' she pleads brokenly. ''Tell me I meant something. Tell me I'm not nothing.''

''Ruby...'' He leans forward and cups her cheek without thinking, pressing his forehead to hers without realizing the consequences. ''You could never mean nothing. People like you - They mean everything. And I care. God, Ruby, I care more than I ever should.'' He shuts his eyes and his breath shakes when he draws it in.

She brings a hand up to cover his, gasping instead of letting out the sobs he sees reflected in her eyes when he opens his. ''Were we in love?'' It's a quiet question. Her voice is soft, but it doesn't shake and she looks up with him with those big, big eyes he could get lost in if he let himself fall. ''Dean, were we in love?''

He can't answer that. He's not sure he knows and he's not sure either one of them could handle the answer. He brushes a tear off her cheek and then he pulls away, clearing his throat like everything's all right. ''Let me take you home, sweetheart.''

.

.

.

Lisa opens the door for him when he carries Ruby through their front door. How fucked up is that? She sighs heavily, tired. ''Dean...'' Despite the gentle tone of her voice, there's a warning edge to it that makes him flinch. He knows she understands, knows she's kind enough to let him bring Ruby into their home and take care of her if she needs to be taken care of, but that doesn't mean she's happy about it. He gets that.

''I know,'' he says. He means to add, _But what else was I supposed to do? It's Ruby_. He decides that's probably not the best way to reassure Lisa that she's the only one for him. He places Ruby on the couch, hand lingering longer than it should when he brushes hair out of her closed eyes. Even in her sleep, she looks troubled. Like she's trying to run from something. Like she's searching for those elusive answers to life's greatest questions. That worries him more than it should.

Lisa is in the kitchen when he finally manages to tear himself away from Ruby. She's gripping the counter with one hand, tugging her robe tighter with the other and she does not look happy. He can't really blame her for that. ''Dean,'' she says his name again, like it's something that makes her permanently tired and worn out. Like he's prematurely aging her with all of this shit he's putting her through. He doesn't think he would blame her if she left him. '' _Dean_.'' A heavy sigh escapes her lips and her hands go up to cover her face.

There is _something_ in between them that keeps slipping out of his grasp. It's fragile and disintegrating and he can't see what it is. He just knows it's important. ''It's just for tonight,'' he says quietly. ''She's hurting, Lise.'' It could be considered just a little cruel to appeal to her bleeding heart like this, but at her core, Lisa is a kind and compassionate woman who can't turn away a soul in need. That's the whole reason he's still standing here. If it weren't for her, he probably would've blown his brains out after Sammy took the swan dive. To put it delicately.

As expected, she softens and runs a shaky hand through her hair. ''All right,'' she relents. ''All right. Just tonight. I'll-I'll get her a blanket.'' He catches her arm when she tries to move past him, running his hand up her arm. She shivers and lifts her head, smiling a tiny little smile that doesn't look real. She stands on her tip toes to kiss him softly on the lips.

''Thank you,'' he says in a whisper when she pulls away. ''For doing this.''

She touches his cheek lightly. ''This is why you love me, right?''

She's gone before he can answer, which, in hindsight, is good because he's suddenly realized that in the entire year he's been with her he's never actually said those three words. Well, son of a bitch, he's an asshole.

.

.

.

Ruby's awake when he comes back into the living room with a glass of water, and Lisa's nowhere to be seen but there's a blanket on the coffee table that Ruby's staring at like she can't believe it's real. It's just a piece of fabric. It hardly means that much. ''Hey.'' He smiles one of those fake smiles he has perfected over the years and hands her the water. ''How are you feeling?''

''I shouldn't be here, Dean,'' she whispers hoarsely. ''This isn't my life. You're not my home.''

That throwaway comment shouldn't hurt the way it does. But it's always the seemingly harmless comments that dig the deepest, isn't it? ''It's just one night,'' he tells her. ''It's just a place to stay.''

She rolls onto her side and stares up at him with that look on her face that somehow manages to simultaneously terrify and thrill him. ''It was always just one night for us, Dean. Don't you remember? That's what we used to say. Just one more night. Just one more round. One more time and then we'd be finished with each other. We never could get that right, could we?''

For both of their sakes, he's going to pretend he did not just hear that. He drapes the blanket over her carefully and sits down on the coffee table. She peers up at him without saying a word and he looks down at her hands. When he lifts his eyes briefly, the ghost of a smile flickers across her lips as if she enjoys watching him struggle. ''This whole pity party of yours,'' he starts slowly. ''It's not just because of Mark, is it?''

Her lips smile and her eyes shine. It's a sad thing to see. ''Not exactly.''

''You're in trouble,'' he deadpans. ''Aren't you?''

She laughs tiredly and reaches out to pat his knee. ''Now, Dean. Don't worry yourself with such things. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.''

You know, last month he would have agreed with her. He's not so sure these days. ''I should let you get some sleep,'' he says, rising to his feet. ''You'll feel... Well, you'll feel like crap in the morning, but that's what you get, drunky.''

''Dean.'' She grabs his hand when he turns to leave and his eyes find hers like magnets. Damn it. She looks up at him with eyes that beg him to tell her the truth. Just once. Just once, her eyes say. Tell me the truth. ''Were we in love?''

And since he's still a coward and he still can't answer her, he leans down and kisses her forehead instead. ''Get some sleep.''

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.

.

_Boredom is Dean's worst enemy at the moment. Sam is off God knows where doing God knows what and Dean has been left alone in a tiny motel room with a television that gets two channels. And neither of them involves porn. He's sitting on the questionable bedspread restlessly flipping between SpongeBob Squarepants and reruns of The Golden Girls when the door opens and Ruby strolls through like she belongs here. He's too far into denial to admit that maybe she does._

_''Hey, Robin,'' she greets. ''Where's Batman?''_

_He scowls at her. ''First of all, thanks for knocking. Second of all, I'm Batman.''_

_She snorts. ''Keep telling yourself that.'' She takes a seat next to him and steals the remote, looking entirely too comfortable. She flicks between the channels for a moment and then frowns curiously, head tilted to the side. He has to remind himself that whatever they have between them, it's just sex and he should never ever, under any circumstances, think she looks cute. Even when she's making her confused face. ''I don't understand either of these shows,'' she declares._

_''What are you doing here, Ruby?'' He asks, keeping his eyes firmly on the TV screen._

_She shrugs. ''I was bored. So I decided to come see what my favourite fuck buddy was up to. ...You're boring, by the way.''_

_''Your favourite? Does that mean there are others?''_

_''Wouldn't you like to know.''_

_''Yes, I would. I'd like to know what my chances are of catching something.''_

_''So funny I forgot to laugh, jackass.'' She puts unnecessary emphasis on the 'jackass' by punching him on the shoulder. Hard. Despite the fact that his shoulder hurts, he clenches his teeth so he won't smile, because she has an annoying tendency to make him smile when he doesn't want to. He steals the remote back from her, clicking off the television. ''Betty White not getting you off?'' She asks, clicking her tongue. ''I don't know. I think she was pretty hot back in her day.'' He really hates how all of her aggravating qualities have somehow switched over to endearing. She grins when she catches him staring, eyes twinkling. ''Wondering what you see in me?''_

_''Little bit.''_

_''It's the sex.''_

_''Right.''_

_''Speaking of sex...'' She pushes herself onto her knees, crawling closer to him to trail her fingers up his chest. Then she gives him one of those smiles that make him want to jump her regardless of where they are or if they have company. ''Let’s have some.''_

_He laughs under his breath. ''Awesome wording, Rubes. Really.''_

_''Well, I figure it was either that or outright asking you to eat me out.''_

_''Ladylike.''_

_She glares and draws away from him, shoving him roughly. ''Fuck you, I'm a lady.''_

_''Oh, please,'' he scoffs, rising to his feet. ''I'm more of a lady than you.'' There's a pause in which she bites her lip, most likely to keep from giggling, and he plays his words back in his head. Much to his immediate horror. ''Let's pretend I didn't say that.''_

_''What will you give me if I do? No, scratch that. What will you do to me if I do?''_

_He rolls his eyes and swallows down the overwhelming urge to rip her clothes off. ''Sam could be back any minute, Ruby.''_

_''The danger makes it better. Come on. Throw me up against a wall and do dirty things to me.''_

_''Sorry. I'm out, princess.''_

_She frowns and crosses her arms over her chest, looking for all the world, like a petulant child in the midst of tantrum. ''Do you think it's funny to withhold sex?''_

_He smirks and grabs his jacket. ''At this particular moment in time? Kinda.'' He throws his jacket on and offers her his hand. ''Come on. I'll buy you dinner.'' Yes, he does, in fact, realize what that statement means. In the next minutes he will, however, pretend he is oblivious._

_A slow smile works its way across her lips and she stands, flicking her hair over her shoulder. ''You're offering to buy me dinner? Like a date?''_

_He rolls his eyes again, letting out a sigh like she is the most exasperating company he's ever had. ''I'm hungry. It's not a date.''_

_''But if you pay don't the relationship laws say - ''_

_''Whoa!'' He holds up a hand, eyes widening in panic. ''Hold up there, Cosmo Girl. This, whatever the fuck this is, it ain't a relationship. And this isn't a date. We're just going to a diner to get something to eat and it's not like you have money, so...''_

_''You don't know that. I could be loaded.''_

_''Then why do you dress like that?''_

_She presses her lips together and peers up at him through her eyelashes, hands placed firmly on her lips. ''Do you hear yourself when you talk?''_

_''Okay, look.'' He rubs his temples tiredly. ''I'm getting a headache. You're giving me a headache, Ruby. This can, in no way, be considered a date. You want to know why? Because you have to like someone to go out on a date with them. I don't like you.'' It's a little harsh, he knows that. It's also a lie. Somehow, when he wasn't looking, she took a spot beside him and hasn't budged since. It's fucking freaking him out. He thinks he might be beginning to care about her. That doesn't sit well with him._

_Ruby, on the other hand, seems entirely unfazed by his snide remark. She's grinning and clasping her hands, calm and collected. ''Really? You don't like me? Not even a little bit?'' When he can't look her in the eye, she tips her head back and laughs. ''Then why do you keep coming back to me, Dean? Explain that one?''_

_He looks up, locks eyes with her and can't think of anything to say to that. It's not often he's left speechless like this. Ruby seems to be breaking a lot of his rules, though. What's another one to add to the list? He stares at her for a long time, tense and silent while she remains calm and cool. They're still locked in their staring contest when the door opens and Sam walks through._

_He stops as soon as he sees them, hesitating in the doorway. ''Oh. Hey, you two. There's not gonna be any bloodshed, is there? Because I can come back later if you like.'' Neither of them break eye contact. ''Guys?''_

_At last, Ruby smirks and breaks eye contact, switching her gaze from Dean to Sam. ''Your brother's a lady,'' she blurts._

_Sam blinks. ''Great,'' he claps Dean on the shoulder on his way past them. ''I fully support you in all your decisions, Deanna. I'm going to take a shower. Okay, sis?''_

_''I think I'm having an aneurysm,'' Dean mutters, pressing a hand to his forehead. When the bathroom door shuts, he looks back at Ruby, who is still fucking grinning at him. ''You're a bitch.''_

_''Yeah.'' She shrugs and closes the distance between them to press herself against him. ''But you still like me. Don't even try to deny it.'' She leans up and catches his lips in a kiss, fingernails scratching down the back of his neck. He kisses her back out of instinct, hands winding around her waist. ''Tomorrow,'' she mumbles against his lips. ''You owe me dinner, Batman. And sex.''_

_Since he's too tired to argue anymore, he has no choice but to agree. Looks like they're going on a date. (Know what? It turns out to be one of the best dates he's ever been on. And despite what he tells himself, he knows this isn't just about the sex anymore.)_

.

.

.

Those are the memories he can't push away. No matter how hard he tries.

.

.

.

In the end, he winds up sitting on the stairs because he can't pick a damn direction.

''Dean,'' Lisa's voice floats down towards him. ''Are you coming to bed?''

He looks down at Ruby, up at Lisa and thinks there is something decidedly ironic about this. There's a metaphor in there somewhere. Light and dark, good and bad, up and down, angel and devil, Lisa and Ruby. It all comes down to the balance he can't find.

Finally, he shakes it all away, stands, and starts up the stairs towards good and light.

.

.

.

It's going to snow soon. That is what Lisa concentrates on as she makes coffee and retrieves the newspaper the following morning. It's going to snow soon. The skies are white, the weather is bitingly cold and her breath hangs in the air. That is what she thinks about. Not the woman sleeping on her couch. Certainly not the way Dean looks at said woman. No, she focuses on the coming snow.

That is, until she turns around and nearly jumps out of her skin when she sees Ruby sitting at the counter, rubbing her temples. A startled yelp leaves her lips and her coffee comes this close to sloshing over the rim of her mug. ''Ruby!''

Ruby lifts bloodshot eyes to her and doesn't say a word. She frowns at the other woman for a moment and then drops her head back down.

It's ironic, because Lisa knows very well what Ruby is, but this is the most human Ruby has ever appeared to Lisa. Wary, Lisa slowly puts her coffee down and avoids staring for too long. ''Good morning,'' she greets hesitantly. ''How's your head?''

''It feels like there are tiny men jack hammering their way into my skull. Is there blood coming out of my ears?''

''No.''

''Oh. Good. I thought something up there ruptured for a second.''

Lisa's lips quirk into a half smile and pours another cup of coffee. ''And yet you're still not as whiny as Dean when he's hungover.''

''No one is as whiny as Dean when he's hungover,'' Ruby agrees. ''He's like a small child.''

''Yeah,'' Lisa lets out a huff of laughter. ''Last summer there was a flu bug going around and both Dean and Ben had it at the same time. I swear, it was like looking after two twelve year olds.'' She turns and smiles softly, sliding the second cup of coffee towards Ruby like it's an olive branch. Ruby eyes her for a moment and then accepts her peace offering. Neither one of them say anything, but it's a big step for both of them. It proves they're mature adults and not catty Brooke and Peyton wannabes. It's silent in the kitchen as they drink their coffee and don't talk about Dean. ''I'm sorry,'' Lisa says eventually. ''About your boyfriend.''

She almost expects Ruby to yell at her for that purely because Ruby doesn't seem like the type to accept pity with open arms. Much to her surprise, Ruby just smiles wryly into her coffee. ''It's funny,'' she murmurs. ''You're the first person to tell me that. People have been - Well,  _Sam_ has been so concerned that I'm hurting and he's always asking me if I'm doing okay, but.'' She shakes her head and looks up at Lisa with a startling amount of vulnerability in her eyes. ''Nobody's actually told me they're sorry. You'd think that would be the first thing they'd say, right? I'm sorry for your loss or some other meaningless condolence like that.''

It's an extremely odd and uncomfortable feeling to want to reach out and hug your supposed ''nemesis.'' Lisa learns this very quickly when she notices the way Ruby's watery eyes glimmer in the light.

''Anyway,'' Ruby clears her throat and gets to her feet, half heartedly attempting to smooth down her wrinkled clothes. ''Thanks for the coffee. And the couch. I should really get out of here before your family wakes up. Tell Dean - Actually, don't tell him anything. It's better that way.'' Ruby smiles slightly; it's half hearted and doesn't reach her eyes.

Lisa swallows.

She doesn't say anything when Ruby turns to leave, even though she feels like she should. As it turns out, she doesn't need to say anything. Ruby's the one who stops in the doorway and turns back around. ''He chose you, Lisa,'' she says simply. ''He'll always choose you. Stop worrying about me and enjoy that.''

Lisa looks down into her mug, feeling a little bit like a child being scolded.

''Just,'' she clears her throat. ''Treat him right.'' Lisa looks up, watching Ruby draw her lips into a tight line like she can't figure out how to word this next part. ''On his birthday, don't bother with cake. Bake him a pie,'' the blonde finally advises. ''He'll say apple is his favourite, but it's really pumpkin. Ask him to teach you about cars. For reasons I don't understand, it makes him smile. If he tells you about his parents, you're a lucky woman because the memories he has of them are some of the things he keeps right next to his heart where no one can see them but him.'' She pauses, eyes clouding over with something deep and powerful that makes Lisa want to cry. ''Make sure you tell him he's good enough. He never thinks he is. Never believe him when he tells you he's fine. It's almost always a lie. When he gets that look in his eyes like he's about to break, just hold him and tell him it's all going to be okay even if it's not.'' Ruby laughs a choked little laugh and Lisa can feel tears gathering behind her eyes. ''Laugh at his jokes even if they're not funny. Which they won't be most of the time. Let him have Sam because they need each other and you know that. And tell him about Ben because he deserves the truth. All he's ever wanted to be is a father. And he'll be a great one.'' Lisa tenses and can't breathe for a second. Ruby doesn't seem to notice. She smirks a wobbly smirk with a slightly faraway look in her eyes. ''And trust me when I say that he'll treat you the way you deserve to be treated. You'll have to kick his stubborn ass every now and then and he'll make a lot of mistakes, but he is a good man at heart, and he's trying his best. When Dean Winchester loves you, he'd move mountains for you. Not many guys would.'' She snaps out of it, looking back at Lisa. ''You'll do that, won't you? You'll take care of him?''

Since she can't find her voice and she's feeling breathless despite the fact that she hasn't talked at all, Lisa nods.

Satisfied, Ruby smiles softly. ''Good. Because you're it, you know. The one he's waited for. I was just a roadblock. _You're_ everything he wants.''

Lisa looks away for a second to catch her breath. Just a second. Just for a minute. Ruby is gone when she looks back.

.

.

.

Later, when she's putting clean sheets in the linen closet and Ruby's words are still ringing in her ears, Dean corners her. She shuts the closet door and he's there. She jumps, puts a hand over her heart and wonders how Dean and Ruby manage to do that. ''People have _got_ to stop doing that to me,'' she grumbles.

''Lisa,'' he strides forward and grabs her arms, nearly causing her to drop the sheet she's holding. She opens her mouth to ask what's gotten into him but then he meets her eyes and scares her into silence. ''I love you.''

And no, it is not lost on her that it is the first time he's ever said that to her. It should be amazing. It should take her breath away. It shouldn't hurt to hear him say he loves her. It shouldn't sting like a nasty paper cut. But he says it like a mantra he's repeated over and over again. A prayer that needs to be answered. A lie he's trying to believe in.

He kisses her then, hard on her lips like he's trying to bruise her, like he's trying to find fire. And then he pulls away, searches her eyes for something she doesn't have and walks away. She hears him calling for Ben and asking the boy what he wants for dinner. He sounds happy and cheerful like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Well, good for him. Now it's on Lisa's shoulders.

The sheets feel too heavy in her hands.

It doesn't feel like a victory.

.

.

.

_''I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything,_  
_without having to say that I ran out into the street to prove something,_  
_that he didn't love me,_  
_that I wanted to be thrown over, possessed.''_   
**-the torn up road**


	9. Nine

**Chapter Nine**

_we're inconsolable_

.

.

.

_''Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means_  
_we're inconsolable.''_   
**\- scheherazade**

.

.

.

Yes, of course Dean remembers what Ruby said about confronting Sam about his brand new _I'm just here for the comic relief and to play matchmaker and I'm totally cool with the_ _fact that I was Michael and Lucifer's number one bitch in the land down under_ temperament. At first he had been all for her rule of _don't talk to Sam about his 'tude unless I'm there because you will inevitably say something beyond stupid and I will have to fix it._

To be honest, he doesn't want to do this alone and as much as it kills him to admit it, he doesn't know how to get through to Sam anymore. His brother has built this barrier around him that won't let anyone in and Dean fucking hates it. So yeah, he had been perfectly content with listening to Ruby. Until now. He's not sure what it is that made him snap. He's not even sure it was one isolated incident. He just knows he can't take this anymore. He can't - he _won't_ \- just sit by and watch as his brother self destructs in front of him.

Also, to be fair, he _has_ called Ruby. In the past hour since he's decided to do this, he's called her four times to tell her where to find them and that he's ''gonna fuckin' do this whether you're here or not, I can't watch this anymore.'' But she hasn't called him back and patience has never really been his thing, so just friggin' screw it, all right? The careless attitude, the tossing and turning at night, the excessive drinking, the jokes about Hell...

Dean needs all that shit to stop. He needs Sam to not be like him. He needs Sam to be Sam. Currently, he's sitting in a motel room, tapping his foot anxiously and trying to come up with something to say. He's not great at speeches. Never has been. He might have to go down a different route.

The door opens and Dean leaps to his feet. ''Sam!''

Sam reels back in shock, blinking in surprise at the very loud and kind of hysterical greeting. ''...Hi?''

''Sam,'' Dean says again, softer this time. ''Dude,'' he reaches out to grip the younger man's arm to steer him over to the bed. ''Can we talk for a second?''

''Um, okay, I guess.''

''Great. Sit down.''

Sam sits down reluctantly, frowning suspiciously up at Dean. ''Geez,'' he finally mutters. ''Who died?'' When Dean doesn't react, his eyes widen. ''Oh, God, Dean, who died?''

''Nobody,'' Dean says quickly, taking a seat on the other bed. ''I'm just not real sure what to say here. Okay, you know what?'' He looks up, mouth set in a determined line. ''Let's drop it. Let's just both drop it, Sam.''

''Drop what?''

''The act. Let's stop pretending that we're okay. 'Cause you and me, man? We're _not_ okay. We haven't been okay in a long time. We're fucked. All right? We're fucked two ways from Sunday and I don't even know what that means. I can't even begin to list all of the psychological disorders we probably have. Depression, post traumatic stress disorder, a little bit of alcoholism, repressed memories...'' Dean trails off, wrinkling his nose in displeasure. ''How have we not blown our brains out yet?''

''Dean,'' Sam deadpans. ''Are we going to arrive at your point any time soon? Or is this a special two part episode?''

''Aha!'' Dean snaps his fingers, eyes flashing as he jabs a finger in his brother's direction. ''See! _That!_ That right there, that's what I'm talking about.''

''Excuse me?''

''What the fuck is your problem, Mr. Snarky Pants?''

Sam's impassive face turns into a sneer as he stands, glaring down at Dean. ''Really?'' He asks lowly. ''That's how you're going to approach this issue?''

''I don't know how else to approach it!'' Dean bites out defensively.

''Here's an idea,'' Sam says plainly. ''How about you don't approach it at all?'' He gets to his feet with a bright, fake smile and moves like he's going to make a break for it. Naturally, Dean's first instinct is to grab his brother's arm. Apparently, Sam's first instinct is to wrench free, turn and shove Dean so hard he stumbles. Okay then. Doesn't like to be touched. He will have to make a mental note of that.

''Yes,'' Dean says wryly, rubbing his chest. ''But you're totally fine, right?''

''Dean...'' For barely a second, regret flashes in Sam's eyes before he pushes it all away and builds another wall.

''Do you remember the year before I went to Hell?'' Dean asks softly.

''You mean when you were fucking Ruby behind my back and neglected to mention that little fact to me?'' Sam laughs bitterly. ''Yeah, I remember that. Why do you ask?''

''Do you really not see any parallels between then and now?'' Sam's whole body tenses and goes ramrod straight. He can't look his brother in the eye. Dean chokes down a triumphant grin. Aha. Gotcha now, kid. ''You told me to stop acting like I wasn't afraid. Stop turning everything into a punchline. You wanted your brother back, you said. Just _because._ I mean, come on, Sammy,'' Dean offers his little brother a half hearted chuckle and when Sam lifts his eyes sharply at the sound of the nickname, Dean suddenly realizes he can't remember the last time he called him _Sammy._ ''You had to have known I was gonna find some way to throw that back in your face.'' Sam pinches the bridge of his nose and frowns deeply. At this rate, the guy is going to give himself gray hairs and wrinkles if he doesn't stop frowning and stressing so goddamned much. ''Or how about after I came back from Hell?'' Dean goes on. Sam moves back when Dean takes an experimental step toward him. That stings. He can't even pretend that doesn't sting. ''How I pretended I didn't remember anything? How you told me I could talk to you? You pulled me back more times than I can count, Sam. You know that? So why won't you let me do the same for you?''

Sam falters. Then shuts down. ''Because I'm fine, Dean.''

Dean doesn't say anything for a long time because he's too busy trying to converse with Sam using only his eyes. It doesn't work like it used to. Sam has forged some kind of switch that plunges everything into darkness, and he mustn't be able to see in the dark because that switch is staying off. ''We may be great pretenders, Sam, but we never could pretend with each other.'' There is admittedly something of an untruth in that statement. He thinks about it, pauses, and then decides to ignore it. ''Look, Sam...'' He trails off, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly. ''I just want you to talk to me, man.'' His eyes plead desperately for all of the things they used to have and all of the things they can't find as he cautiously takes a step forwards. ''I want my brother back.''

There is a tense moment of silence in which Dean comes this close to believing that he has actually gotten through. But then Sam grinds out an impatient, ''I _am_ your brother'' and ruins everything.

Dean will wholeheartedly own up to the fact that in the next several seconds, he snaps in a big way. ''No, you're _not!_ You're not my brother anymore! I don't even know who you are!'' He drops all caution and care and strides towards Sam, gripping his shoulders tightly and making sure to dig his fingers in. ''You went to Hell, Sam. You're not fine. You're not okay! And I get that. I know what it's like. I really - ''

''You really, _really_ don't,'' Sam says shakily. He pushes Dean's hands away and draws in a nervous sounding breath. ''You have no idea - '' his voice trembles and Dean has to swallow - ''what it was like for me. You can't - You can't even begin to compare us,'' he snarls out. ''You weren't there. You weren't in that cage.'' He shakes his head, eyes glistening. He's looking at Dean. He's looking right at him, but Dean can't shake the feeling that Sam is looking right through him. ''But do you know who _was_ there? Adam. Our _brother_ , Dean. Our little kid brother went to Hell and he's still in Hell. And I'm here. I'm back here and...'' His voice cracks and he blinks as if he has suddenly realized that his eyes are shining. ''...And I don't know why. No, Dean, you _don't_ know what it's like. You _don't_ know how I feel. You can't. So don't you dare pretend you do.'' He glares heatedly and Dean can't figure out how to respond to that.

For a long time, they both stand there in silence that bounces off the walls and hurts Dean's ears. Finally, Sam shakes his head in exasperation, mumbles something about needing some air and turns abruptly to escape. He's ripped the door open before Dean can try and stop him. Turns out he doesn't need to.

It takes Sam all of a second and a half after opening the door to stumble backwards in shock. Sam stumbles, Dean sucks in a breath and in the doorway, Ruby's got her determined face on. And underneath that determination her skin is pale, she's got bags under her eyes and her arms are wrapped around herself which Dean knows is never a good sign when it comes to Ruby. It can mean a myriad of things, to be honest. It either means she's upset, frustrated or trying to hide something. Judging by the way she's practically white and slouched against the doorframe like she can't stay upright, Dean's willing to bet she's hiding the fact that she feels like shit. That concerns him. Like everything else that has to do with her, he tends to worry about her more than he should. Everything about her is _more than he should_ territory. It's an illness, really.

''Sit down, Sam,'' she suggests softly.

''I'm not - ''

''Sit. Down.'' Her voice hardens and she stands straight. Dean notices it's with some difficulty.

''You can't tell me what to do,'' Sam mutters, somewhat meekly.

Ruby looks at him, pinches her lips together and, after a moment, she lets out a long suffering sigh like Sam is the biggest disappointment there ever was. Sam sits down. Dean stops staring at Ruby in an attempt to find the injury she's hiding. Wow. You know, once upon a time he used to be able to do that. What happened to them? Sam used to be his _everything._ When did things get so screwed up?

She steps into the room, shuts the door and when she slides her eyes to Dean briefly, a small, worried frown tugs at his lips. It's an instinct. He can't help it. But it's an instinct that makes her flinch and look away like he has just flicked holy water at her. He's not sure how to take that. ''I'm going to be honest with you, Sparky,'' she starts calmly. ''I'm not in the mood for this shit. In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been doing that great recently. If you remember correctly, I had a baby taken away from me, people keep dying on me, I'm very tired and you have developed an attitude problem that worries me. I don't want to be here. I want to go home and go to sleep. But I _am_ here. I'm here for you and your sorry ass because for reasons I still don't fully understand, I care about you. I care about you a lot more than I ever thought possible. So let's talk, boy king. 'Cause we're not going anywhere until you do.''

Sam crosses his arms, stares sullenly at the floor for a moment and then uncrosses his arms to rub his forehead. Dean is reminded of teenage Sammy and his teenage mood swings. ''Then I guess we're not going anywhere,'' Sam sighs out.

''Don't act like a child,'' Ruby gripes.

''Don't treat me like one.''

''I'm treating you like a child because you're acting like one, you giant six foot one ungrateful toddler!''

''I'm six foot _four_ , Ruby. _Dean_ is six foot one.''

Ruby whirls around to look at Dean. ''You're six foot one? Somehow, I thought you were shorter.''

Dean opens his mouth to speak, then thinks better of it and rolls his eyes. He's not sure what just happened and he's not sure what this has turned into, but he's pretty sure Sam is doing this on purpose to avoid the issue even further. It's incredibly childish. Which helps his theory that Sam is acting strange because generally, Sam doesn't do childish unless provoked.

''Hey, you wanna talk about height?'' Sam grins at her. ''How tall are you, shorty?''

Then her eyes flash black, telling Dean her frustration will soon grow into physical violence and if he wants to stop this argument from escalating into a slap fight, he had better step in. ''Whoa!'' He wraps his hand around Ruby's left wrist and pulls her away from Sam. ''How about we all take a deep breath and calm the fuck down before this ends in concussions.'' He flicks his eyes to Ruby. ''Does that sound satisfactory to you, Mom?''

She jerks her wrist out of his grasp in response.

''Sorry, I suppose I get a little snippy when people gang up on me,'' Sam informs them with a wry smile.

''We are doing this for your own good,'' Ruby snaps. Then she turns on Dean, poking him in the chest. ''I told you, Dean. I told you this wouldn't get us anywhere.''

Sam freezes. His face twists and his eyes darken. Dean swears he sees smoke coming out of his ears. ''So, wait a minute. Let me get this straight.'' He's smirking. That is never a good sign. ''You two.'' He blinks and gestures between them. ''You two have just been, what? Planning this? For how long? What the hell, guys? Are you trying to perform an intervention? Or get me to open up about my feelings? Which is it?''

''Do you need an intervention, Sam?'' Ruby asks.

Sam flinches.

There's a long moment of intense eye contact that makes Dean feel like he's missing something important. When the silence persists, it shoves him right off the edge and into a dark, black abyss. ''You know what I think? I think you both need to shut the fuck up right now.''

They both turn to stare at him.

''We've all been to Hell. We all know what goes on down there. And none of us - '' He shoots Sam a meaningful look '' - Are going to pretend it was the same. Hell is different for everyone and we all deal with it in different ways. I was there for forty years. I dealt with it by getting extremely drunk.'' He turns to Ruby. ''You were there for who knows how long. You deal with it by putting on your bitch mask during the day and crying yourself to sleep at night and yes, I know about that. But you - '' His attention goes back to Sam. Something in his eyes must actually break through momentarily because Sam actually has a reaction. ''You were stuck in a cage with Michael and Lucifer and now you're back and you're not dealing. Sam, I can't lose you. Don't you understand that? We can't handle losing you.''

''What do you want me to do?'' Sam questions softly, after he has let those words sink in for a moment. ''Would you like me to get drunk and cry? Would you like me to be a bitch?''

''Sam,'' Dean whispers his brother's name and they all pretty much make a collective decision to pretend they don't hear the catch in his voice. ''We just want you to be okay.''

Ruby's fingers clutch at Dean's shirt, one of the bravest signs of physical contact she's shown, and she pulls him back. When he gives in and allows her to tug him back a step, he feels her fingers graze the inside of his wrist and he really thinks she's going to reach down and hold his hand. But she doesn't. Her hand falls away altogether and she closes herself off when he dares to turn his head ever so slightly. He doesn't know why and he's not sure he likes it at all, but her touch helps him breathe.

''I know,'' Sam says softly. ''But that's not going to happen,'' he tells them, regretfully. He stands, smiling sadly. ''I'm not okay. I'm not okay and I won't be okay because I was in Hell. I was in Hell and then suddenly I wasn't. And I'm not a righteous man, Dean. I'm not you. An angel didn't pull me from my cage because I'm supposed to save the world. In case you've forgotten, I was supposed to end it. I'm just here. I'm just here and I don't know why. No one will tell me why. So, yeah, it fucking hurts and no, I'm not fucking okay. There,'' he glowers at them, blinking glassy eyes. ''Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?''

Dean feels slightly breathless. He can't help but look at Ruby. Her gaze has dropped to the floor, her teeth have sunken into her lower lip and she's got one arm wound around her stomach.

''You can't help me,'' Sam says slowly, punctuating every word carefully in order to get his point across. ''No one can. So stop trying.'' Then he turns and walks out of the room. Even his goddamned walk is different. It's all hunched shoulders and lacking the confidence he once had as if there's a weight on his shoulders and ghosts are chasing after him. He doesn't even slam the door dramatically. It shuts with a quiet click. It makes everything feel too final.

Dean means to run after Sam in order to save the poor kid from himself. But he can't find his footing.

Ruby is the first to move, sitting down slowly on the edge of the bed. She grimaces in pain for about a millisecond, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees and rake a hand through her hair. He eyes her carefully, watching her every move. There are signs of discomfort and pain in every move she makes. There are two possible scenarios here. She's either injured or majorly sick and about to toss her cookies all over the cheap motel comforter. Since she's a demon, he's willing to put money on option number one.

''Well,'' she looks up at him with a grim smile. ''That went well.''

''That went about as well as I thought it would,'' he answers honestly. ''To tell you the truth, I figured he'd punch me in the face at some point so I'm glad I managed to avoid that.''

She smiles weakly and stands carefully. ''I guess I should get going.''

''Wait.''

She stops.

He swallows down the urge to reach out and touch her. ''Are you sick?''

''I'm a demon, Dean,'' she sighs. ''As far as I know, demons don't get sick.''

''Then what's wrong with you?'' He asks bluntly.

A small, humorless chuckle escapes her lips and she shakes her head at him. ''Smooth.''

''I'm serious.'' When she darts away from him when he moves towards her, he knows he's right on the money with this one. ''You're obviously in pain. Can you just tell me what's wrong?''

''Nothing's wrong,'' she huffs. ''I'm fine.''

He blocks her way to the door and stares at her patiently. Ever the control freak, she stares right back and doesn't flinch under the scrutiny she is subjected to because she is going to hold onto that control for as long as she can. ''Are you sure about that?'' He murmurs, tilting his head to the side. It's not hard to determine where the root of her problem lies. Without breaking eye contact, he takes a risk, reaches out and swats at her stomach. She lets a grunt of pain slip through her lips, doubling over and hissing in pain as she clutches at her stomach. ''Yep,'' he drawls. ''You're completely fine.''

She mutters something under her breath about how much of a ''fucking dick'' he is. Oh, she's so sweet. Like a delicate flower.

''Let me see.''

''Piss off.''

''Ruby, don't be stubborn. Just let me see.''

Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips and she rakes her eyes over him for an unbearable moment before scoffing. Gingerly, she strips off her jacket with a grimace of pain and then lifts up her shirt. He gently removes the hastily applied gauze and then has to do everything in his power not to react to the gruesome wound. He fails. ''Jesus Christ, Ruby,'' he manages to get out, grabbing her arm. He helps her over to the bed, kneeling in front of her. ''This looks - ''

''I'll be fine,'' she says, despite the fact that her voice is tight with pain. ''I'm a demon, remember?''

''Yeah, but blood loss...'' He stops in order to keep from tripping over his words because he's not really sure what his argument is with that one.

His fingers trace the frayed edges of the wound and when goosebumps rise on her bare arms, she closes her eyes. ''I could run completely out of blood and I will still be a demon.'' Her voice is flippant; arrogant even, but her face is scrunched up in pain, her eyes are still squeezed shut and he's not sure if she's aware of what she's doing but her fingers are clawing at his arm. Her fingernails digging into his skin tell him a different story than the lies that fall out of her mouth.

''All right,'' he sighs. ''It doesn't look _that_ bad.''

She snorts.

''No, really,'' he pushes his sleeves up. ''I've seen worse. I don't even think it's infected. It just needs to be cleaned and dressed better. Take your shirt off.''

Her eyes fly open. There is a brief, unmistakable flash of panic that skitters across her eyes like a cockroach. ''Dean.'' She doesn't even say his name like she used to. ''How do I put this as indelicately as possible? If you're not going to screw me, then I'm not going to strip for you.''

''Ruby!'' Her name erupts from his lips like an explosion that startles them both into silence. The quiet worms its way in between them and pushes them farther apart than they already are. It digs claw like fingers into their chests and squeezes their hearts until blood spurts onto clean white walls. You remember, don't you? What that's like. Everyone does. ''You're a demon,'' Dean chokes out. ''I get it. You're strong and unflappable. Whatever. You won't tell me what kind of trouble you're in. You won't tell me what's going on or who's after you. And I'm sure you're going to tell me this is from, what, running into a knife? So can't you just this once, just for today, let me patch you up so I feel like I can do something? Let me _fix_ something, Ruby. Let me feel like I'm not watching you kill yourself by letting you keep your secrets. Can't you fucking do this for me?'' He comes to the end of his tirade, chest rising and falling unsteadily as he stares at her like he's trying to read her secrets.

Her mouth works silently for a few seconds before she finally manages to say, ''You're not.'' She looks up at him with those stupid doe eyes, the ones he used to see in the shadows of backseats and dark bedrooms. ''Watching me die,'' she whispers. ''You're not.''

He looks away in the silence that follows.

She stands up slowly, hesitates and then pulls off her shirt.

He looks back.

.

.

.

Something happens after he's finished dressing her wounds in antiseptic and bandages.

The thing is neither of them knows exactly what that _something_ is. It's not a spark that ignites when he touches her. It's not a meaningful look they exchange. It's not a soft plea for feeling. It's just something that leads to them playing tonsil hockey on the motel bedspread with their clothes (mostly) on. They don't remember who kissed who first and they don't remember how he got on the bed with her on top of him, but somehow it happened.

His elbows are sinking into the bed, she's straddling him and they both know it's wrong but they can't stop. Her hair tickles, and he tastes like peppermint. And the door opens. Of course the door opens.

Sam storms in with fire and rage and he's so determined to monologue that he doesn't see them at first. ''You know what? No. I am not just going to walk away from this. You want to talk about not dealing? Let's talk about you two and your - '' That would be when he snaps out of it, stops staring at the floor and sees them. '' - Oh. Well. Okay then. Never mind.'' Then he throws them a look that is neither approving nor disapproving and turns to saunter back out of the room.

Ruby gasps, realizes what she's doing and throws herself off of Dean, hitting the ground with a thud while Dean swipes at his lips and tries to catch his breath. ''No.'' Her voice comes out low and shaky and her eyes are dark and flustered. Her cheeks are tinged pink as she grabs her shirt and tugs it over her head quickly. ''No, no, no. I'm not your whore. I can't be your whore, Dean. I can't be the other woman. I'm not a villain, I'm not a homewrecker, I'm not the bad guy here. Don't make me the bad guy.''

He rolls off the bed, distancing himself from her the best he can. ''I'm not,'' he begins to protest. He forgets the rest. ''I didn't mean to... I don't want this!'' He finally shouts, throwing his arms out in frustration. ''I don't want this, Ruby!''

''I _shouldn't_ want this,'' she counters. ''You. _This._ What we had. I shouldn't want it. It was messed up. _We_ were messed up. You're not mine, you never were. Lisa is... She's perfect. Don't fuck that up because of me. I know I come off as a bitch, but half of the time I don't mean to. I'm not heartless. I feel. I feel just like you do. I don't want to hurt Lisa. But you...'' She shakes her head until blond hair falls into eyes that shine with all of the things he cannot bear to name. ''Stop making me want it, Dean,'' she rasps. ''Stop making me want to be the bad girl that everyone thinks I am. Stop making me want _you_.''

Air won't reach his lungs. That is nothing new when it comes to her. ''How am I supposed to do that?''

She looks at him through the delicate strands of hair that have fallen in her face. Then she turns on her heel to run. Like always. She stops with her hand on the doorknob and turns back to peer at him through those big eyes that give everything she insists on hiding away. ''Stay away from me.'' It's not a harsh order; it's not a bitter demand. It's merely a desperate plea. There's an ache in his chest that he can't shake. ''It's what's best for everyone,'' she nods. ''Just stay away from me. You have everything you want, Dean. Don't wreck that by chasing after what we could never have.''

.

.

.

All love is not relative. Love is linear. It ebbs and flows. But it is not the same. His love for Lisa is not under interrogation. There is no question. He loves Lisa. That's the truth. That has never been the question he can't answer. Not at all. The question he doesn't have the answer to is whether or not he's _in love_ with Lisa Braeden. He can't figure out the math on that one. The numbers are all wrong. The data isn't there. He has never been good at math. But he does know one thing. It could, in fact, be the one thing that holds the key to the answer.

Lisa can be many things, but she can never be Ruby.

''Were we in love?'' Ruby had asked him, all but begging and pleading for the truthful answer. ''Dean, were we in love?''

That is math he can do. Those numbers add up. He can count them on the back of his hand like scars. Those calculations make sense.

_Were we in love?_

He knows the answer to that question now. It's all the other questions he can't figure out.

.

.

.

_''A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it into the river_  
_but then he's still left_  
_with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away_  
_but then he's still left with his hands.''_   
**\- boot theory**


	10. Ten

**Chapter Ten**

_sing a song about the room we're in_

.

.

.

_''We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven,_  
_which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and a gentleness that comes,_  
_not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.''_   
**\- snow and dirty rain**

.

.

.

Her carved-up-like-a-friggin-pumpkin-at-Halloween flesh is not the only thing sore and tender that itches painfully tonight. Her ego has also taken a brutal beating. That part happened when she found herself on top of a taken man just because she wanted it.

The moral compass Ruby relies on so damn much is MIA. Her heart seems to be doing all the ruling as of late. That's not a safe way to live. That's a _human_ way to live. There is a big difference between remembering what it's like to be human and actually _wanting_ to be human. She's long past that stage of her existence. Humans are weak. Humans leave their hearts in other people's hands. And that hurts. She doesn't want that. Her heart is not an orchard of wildflowers and strange fruit. Her heart is far too damaged for anyone else to hold. She wants to hold her own heart. She will always hold her own heart. That's just the way it has to be.

No matter how lonely it gets.

She decides she doesn't want to think about it.

There is snow on the ground and the sky is dark by the time she gets home. She'd like nothing more than to curl up in bed and watch a terrible no-good movie. With her luck, she'll go upstairs and find Crowley in her apartment waiting to torture her. Or better yet, she'll go up there and find Samuel freaking Campbell. With a flamethrower. Waiting to _set her on fire._ It's not fair. Home is where you're supposed to feel safe.

She digs out her keys, but can't quite bring herself to open the door. She wants a nice warm bed, but she doesn't want to be alone. She doesn't want her dingy apartment given to her by an overcompensating demonic bastard. Her apartment has cockroaches and an annoyingly low supply of hot water and neighbors who like to fuck obnoxiously loud. She doesn't want that. She wants a warm, inviting, welcoming house and she wants to share it with someone who cares about her and makes her laugh. She wants what everyone wants. She heaves a sigh and slumps against the door, jingling her keys in her hand. Her eyes flutter shut and she runs a hand over her tired face.

As it turns out, when you're not supposed to be thinking of someone, they're all you can think about.

Lisa Braeden is perfect for Dean. She is seriously the perfect match for him. She's a good girl, so she can tame the bad boy. She can give him the family he has been craving for years. She'll let Dean save her if she ever needs saving, which apparently is one of those weird things that gets him off for some reason. And most of all, she is not one of the things he had been taught to fight against.

John Winchester was a great hunter. A legend among demons and hunters alike. That much Ruby knows from the stories she has heard. He was a great hunter; took down scores of supernatural creatures in the name of revenge. He was not, however, a good father. Nor was he particularly a good man. He raised those boys to believe in black and white and traumatized them so badly that they still have scars years later. He raised them to be ignorant because he was ignorant himself. She wonders what the all mighty John Winchester could say if she let it slip that one of his closest contacts from back in the day is a demon. Actually, scratch that. She wonders what he would say if he knew about her.

She pushes off the door with a puff of air, breath hanging in the frigid night air. No. She will not think about these things. She is fumbling with her keys when she senses it. Him. Her heart rate speeds up and she whirls around just in time for a bus to pass by. When it's gone, she catches sight of him. She didn't sense him because she's a demon. She sensed him because he's _family._ Family is something that means everything in this harsh, uncontrolled world.

Josef is sitting on a bench, arm splayed out over the back of the bench, head tilted back as he looks up at the sky. Ruby's breath catches and guilt pools in her stomach, twisting and knotting painfully. There are flashes of Adele racing through her head, happy and alive, and then lifeless and bloody. A cry of his name bubbles up in her throat like bile. She chokes it down and puts her keys away. A freezing cold breeze hits her like a slap in the face and she snaps out of it. Drawing in a deep breath, she crosses the street and works over the words she wants to say when she reaches him.

She doesn't end up saying any of them.

He looks up when she steps onto the curb and when he locks eyes with her, she can't say a thing. Slowly, she takes a seat next to him. Neither of them say a word. She watches Mrs. Hendricks and her nasty little dog scuttle into the building.

He's the one who winds up speaking first, clearing his throat before he talks. ''Ten years.'' His voice is hoarse and raw and she can't help but notice the way he toys with his wedding ring as if he's petrified it will fall off. A lump grows in her throat. ''Addie and I... We were married for ten years. Ten years next Wednesday actually. The tenth anniversary is tin. I didn't know what to get her. We were only together for four weeks before we got married. Did I ever tell you that story?'' He tears his eyes away from the building across the street and looks at her with a small smile that doesn't even begin to reach his hollow eyes.

She is struck with the strong feeling that she isn't supposed to talk so she shakes her head instead.

''She was in college and I was working at her campus library, if you can believe that, and when I saw her... That was it. I just knew. I knew she was it for me. We dated for four weeks and then one night I decided to tell her - _show_ her - what I really am. She interrupted me - She was _always_ interrupting me. She loved to talk. She interrupted me before I could tell her and she told me that she was a demon, but she didn't want me to be afraid of her because she loved me. And then I told her about me and we got married.'' He smiles fondly, staring off into space like he's watching an old memory of Adele play out in front of her. ''The first year was the hardest. We were still getting to know each other and suddenly we had to learn to deal with the little quirks that drove us crazy. But we did. We did learn to deal with those things because - because we were meant to be. Adele... That kind of thing only happens once. I learned to deal with the fact that she would ramble on and on endlessly about the 40's and 50's. She learned to deal with my issues with historical inaccuracies in movies. Like that one movie with that guy from Brokeback Mountain where he's a knight or whatever? What the fuck was that? Have you noticed that our time is portrayed incredibly unrealistically in media? I find that offensive.''

She smiles dimly, looking down at the snow on the ground.

''But we both learned to live with these things,'' Josef continues quietly. ''Because marriage is about compromise and when it's right, the good always outweighs the bad. She had so much good in her. She had one of the biggest hearts I had ever known. She was the sweetest person I knew, but she had a mouth like a sailor and when it came down to the people she cared about, she'd fight tooth and nail for them. She loved to read. She'd say her favourite books were the classics but really she devoured those trashy romance novels like nobody's business. She hated wearing makeup and high heels and she would constantly say that she wasn't a girly girl but all she ever wore were dresses. She watched cop shows so she could guess who the bad guy was and she was always, always wrong. She could sing. Man, could she ever _sing._ Sinatra, Billie Holliday, Led Zeppelin, the Spice Girls and Lady Gaga. Those were her favourites. She had a very eclectic taste in music.'' He lets out a little laugh that doesn't really sound like a laugh.

Her vision is blurred and she can barely see. Her hands tremble with guilt.

''And she was beautiful.'' He beams at that thought, smiling so widely it reaches his eyes. He has always had a very nice smile. Even that is somehow devastating tonight. ''She was so beautiful. At night, she'd put her hair up and put her glasses on and she'd be in sweats with her nose in one of those stupid books and she'd still be the prettiest girl in the world to me.''

Ruby lifts her eyes to the sky with tears on her eyelashes and an agonizing pain in her chest. She almost feels like a child again, being scolded by her hard-eyed and positively wretched mother for any little wrongdoing. But this is something far more serious than daydreaming out in the dirt instead of doing the washing. This is Adele they're talking about. The woman who accepted Ruby into her life with open arms the second she got out of Hell just because she was Josef's niece. The woman she got killed. She wonders why Josef hasn't thrown a punch yet. Yelled, screamed, called her out on it. _Something._ Ruby would have. It would almost make her feel better to be yelled at right now.

''She was going to go to the grocery store.'' His voice hardens. She holds her breath. ''She was going to go to the grocery store and she didn't finish the book she was reading and I was going to make her a mother when all of this was over because she used to tell me that was what she was _meant_ to be. But she never got a chance to do any of those things. And now she's - All that's left is a pile of ashes and her wedding ring and I cannot - I _will not_ lose you, too.'' He startles her when he jolts toward her and grabs her wrists, shaking her roughly, sad eyes turning cold and black. ''So you better tell me now, Ruby. You better tell me everything. You better tell me what kind of mess you're in here. Start. Talking.''

She draws in a few shuddering gulps of air and reluctantly meets his eyes. ''Josef,'' she whispers. ''I think you'd better come inside.''

.

.

.

Josef is sitting grim faced and still as a statue at her kitchen table and she's trying not to cry again. She is so sick of trying not to cry. She remembers a time - it wasn't that long ago. It feels like it wasn't that long ago - where she never cried at all. She used to avoid it like the plague. (No pun intended.) She wishes she could give Josef more. More than a meaningless apology and a promise of vengeance as soon as she gets things sorted out.

''So that's it?'' He asks gruffly, crossing his arms. ''I can't kill him? I can't avenge my wife until you get your fucking ducks in a row?''

''Not yet,'' she begs. ''Please not yet, Joe. Not until I fix what he's done to me. Not until I'm sure he won't take Dean and Sam away. I can't let... Not them. I need them.''

At that, he wrinkles his nose in obvious displeasure and says, with a noticeable twinge of disgust, _''Really?''_

She gives him a thin lipped smile and doesn't answer.

He shakes his head at her and sighs. ''You're stronger than this, doll.''

She smiles wryly. ''Don't be so sure about that.''

He eyes her carefully. ''Don't be a martyr. That's not who you are.''

''Really? Let's backtrack, shall we? I think all I've ever been is a martyr.''

_''Ruby.''_

_''Josef.''_

He holds his hands up in surrender while she rubs her temples. ''All right, fine. I won't do anything until you give me the go ahead,'' he promises. ''But the second you do, that bastard is going down. And I'm gonna make it hurt. Got it?''

She forces a smirk. ''Loud and clear.'' She looks down at the scuffed, wobbly table and wrings her hands nervously. Great. Just great. As if Crowley hasn't taken enough from her, he has to take away her relationship with the only family she has left too? She's certain Josef will never look at her the same again and she can't even figure out what to say to him anymore. ''So,'' she finally mumbles, looking up at him slowly. ''Historical inaccuracies, huh?''

He blinks at her, stares and then a slow smirk starts on his lips. ''They bother me.'' 

''You're such a nitpicker,'' she mutters with a smile.

He leans forwards to gape at her. ''You honestly don't find it annoying? I mean, aesthetics alone! People in medieval times were not that attractive. We were unwashed, unhygienic, hairy motherfuckers.''

''Hey.''

''Except you.''

''Thank you.''

''And the 13th and 14th centuries were not romantic. I hate that movies make them out to be romantic. You know what bugs me? _Game of Thrones_ bugs me.''

''...I don't think _Game of Thrones_ is what you think it is. Have you ever even seen a full episode?''

''No, because it bugs me.''

She laughs. ''Josef, you're a smart guy. Shouldn't you know that obviously none of the writers or directors are going to get it right? None of them are that old.''

''That's not true,'' he points a finger at her, lounging back in his seat with a triumphant smirk. ''I have it on good authority that Steven Spielberg is one of us. Also, I think Betty White.''

''Really?''

He shrugs. ''The woman's gotta be something.''

''Cool.''

A small laugh falls from his lips and she breathes in a nice, deep breath. It's oddly comforting to hear him laugh. They sit in silence for a moment until the lightness fades, replaced by vicious awkwardness. She's not looking at him, but he's looking at her. He's studying her so intently it's like he's searching for a flaw in the way she's breathing. It's unnerving. ''You're thinking about something,'' he drawls.

''No, I'm not,'' she denies quickly, crossing her arms over her chest in order to hide her heart. ''I'm not thinking at all.''

''Yes, you are. You've got that pensive face of yours on.''

''I don't know what you're - ''

''You want to ask me something,'' he cuts in smoothly, narrowing his eyes as he stares her down. ''You want to ask me something but you're afraid of what the answer will be.'' In reply, she huffs and shoots him a small, irritated frown. She keeps her mouth shut, twisting her lips into a judgmental scowl and tilting her head to the left. ''And now you're trying to intimidate me,'' he chuckles. ''Sorry, doll. You're going to have to try a bit harder with me. You may be a badass demon chick now but to me you're still that little girl who used to chase fireflies with my daughter. Therefore, not intimidating.'' He drums his fingers on the table, beating out a rhythm she can't distinguish. Then he shrugs and carelessly slouches down in his chair. ''Go ahead. Ask me.''

It's not that simple. It's never been that simple. Simplicity has never been part of her life. ''How did you know?'' She asks at last. Clearing her throat, she lifts her head and locks eyes with him. He stiffens and seems to realize exactly what she's asking him. ''How did you know Adele was it for you?'' She elaborates. ''Was that - Was it a demon thing?''

He looks at his wedding ring, a move that does not go unnoticed by her and she immediately wants to take it all back. ''No,'' he says firmly before she has a chance to retract her nosy question. ''No, that was a human thing.'' Absently twisting his ring, he looks at her with a lazy smirk as if he knows all of her secrets. ''You know, we may not technically be blood related anymore,'' he says conversationally. ''Different bodies and all. But our souls are still linked to one another. We're still family. That sense of knowing when you find your it? That's all in the family. You'll know, too. One day, you'll look at someone and you'll just _know._ There are no explanations. No rhyme or reason. Not when it comes to this. One day, things will fit like a puzzle you've been waiting to complete and you'll know. I guess the only question is… Do you already know?'' Looking downright smug and jovial, he leans his elbows on the table and grins at her. ''Tell me, have you found your other half yet?''

Her gaze drifts away from him nervously.

He hums thoughtfully under his breath. ''Uh-huh. It's him, isn't it?'' He asks lowly. ''That hunter boy. It's him.''

Well, let's see. The place where her heart should be is nothing more than a gaping empty cavity that aches horribly because Dean Winchester ripped her still beating heart out with his bare hands like it was some sort of sick bloody valentine, and it's getting so hard for her to breathe these days. Is that the sense of knowing Josef is talking about? Because if so, it hurts quite a bit.

Ruby decides that the safest course of action right now would be to change the subject. ''Hey,'' she says, standing and offering him her hand. ''There's a dirty little bar down the street. Wanna go get drunk?''

He scoffs, appears to vehemently disagree with her offer in an attempt to remain a mature adult who doesn't partake in such childishness. But then he shows that yes, he really is related to her when he shrugs and stands so fast that his chair nearly topples right over. '' 'Kay.''

Yep. Sometimes it's so easy to tell they're related.

.

.

.

The cold weather is unforgiving, and when Dean gets home to spend the weekend with Lisa and Ben all he can think about is, spoken like a true big brother, if Sam is remembering to stay warm. What with the brand new psychological issues and all, Dean isn't sure if remembering to wear layers is on the top of Sam's priority list. He's kind of thinking Sam's number one priority is to forget.

His numb fingers fumble clumsily with the keys, his breath hangs in the air and he seriously feels like he could have frostbite or something. He staggers inside, grumbling under his breath about the cold and rubbing his hands together. It takes longer than it should for the music to reach him because at first he thinks it's in his head or something. It's _loud._ It shakes the picture of Dean, Lisa and Ben on the table in the foyer. It's coming from upstairs.

Ben.

Oh, it's time for the rebellious stage, is it? _Awesome._ A little odd as well considering Ben has seemed mostly content with his life in the time Dean has known him. He shrugs out of his jacket and he's just hanging it up when it hits him. Oh. Dude. That's Guns N' Roses. Ben only ever listens to G'N'R when he's upset. Dean tenses and straightens, inclining his head toward the stairs. Acting on impulse, he starts toward the staircase without calling for Lisa and it's only when he's sprinting past the living room that he sees her. He skids to a halt and backtracks quickly. ''Lisa?''

She's sitting on the couch weeping bitterly into her hands.

Well, shit.

Tears are never good. They are caged chaos. The glass of wine sitting on the coffee table in front of her, deep and dark and red in a long stemmed glass, is worse. ''Lise,'' he goes toward her, sliding onto the couch next to her. ''Hey,'' he reaches out to touch her face gently when she looks up, all tearstained cheeks and red rimmed eyes. She looks so tired. ''What happened?'' He asks brusquely, wiping a tear off her cheek with his thumb.

''Ben,'' she chokes out, and then her lips waver.

Dean's heart plummets. ''What about Ben?'' His voice is strained and a touch too gruff. He'll have to remember to apologize later. ''Is he hurt? Did something happen?''

''He's angry with me,'' she cries. ''I don't blame him. I really don't. But... But...'' She chokes on a sob, blubbering helplessly and collapsing limply against his chest. He's not exactly sure what to do in this situation so he wraps his arms around her and rubs her back.

The guilt sets in like a disease. Again. He's a bastard. Lisa's a good girl, a great girl, a real great girl, and he's going around stealing kisses with Ruby like it's three years ago. He's an asshole. But hey, at least he's fucking man enough to admit that considering he ain't man enough to do much else about this unbearable situation.

''I don't want him to hate me,'' she's mumbling, voice muffled by both her hands and his chest.

''I know,'' he soothes.

''I don't want _you_ to hate me.''

That stops him cold. A sick feeling that has nothing to do with the ever present guilt worms its way into his stomach. ''Why would I hate you?''

She goes still in his arms.

He thinks about how sometimes Ben's smile is familiar. Oh, Jesus Christ.

''Lisa,'' he pulls her away from him and tries to find answers in her glassy eyes. ''Lisa,'' he says again. ''What did you do?'' She bites down on her bottom lip; he goes cold and his fingers, grasping her shoulders, tighten. ''Okay,'' he whispers raggedly. ''Okay, I need you to tell me what happened. Right now.''

She closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath.

.

.

.

_Ben has always been a very bright and beautiful child with honest to god chivalry in him. She has always felt incredibly blessed to have him as her son. He's perfect. He's perfect and he's hers. But he is not just hers. Therein lies the problem, the dirty little secret she keeps inside day after day after day. Ben is smart and kind and gets along well with others and he is irreversibly charming. And he never asks about his biological father. It's like he can sense how much it stings for her to think about his father. It makes her feel guilty. It makes her soul feel unclean. For her son's entire life, she has been carrying around the weight of her little lie on her shoulders and her beautiful and perfect little boy has never called her on it._

_Until now._

_She doesn't know why now is so special, she just knows that those delicate and fragile webs of deceit she has woven for twelve long years are unraveling right in front of her eyes over a plate of macaroni and cheese._

_Ben is staring at her expectantly from the other side of the table, empty plate pushed away, hands folded neatly in front of him. There is a wall in front of him that seems impenetrable and his face is carefully blank._

_Lisa gulps. ''Wh-What did you just ask me?''_

_''It's not algebra, Mom,'' he says slowly. ''Is Dean my father or not? Yes or no?''_

_She shifts in her seat, fails to come up with an answer and pulls a piece of macaroni off her fork with her teeth instead, even though she has suddenly lost her appetite. ''Honey,'' she says with a swallow. ''You know Dean loves you like - ''_

_''Yes,'' Ben interrupts. ''I do. I do know Dean loves me like. But that's not what I asked you. I asked you whether or not he's my father. I'd really like to know, Mom. I have a right to know. So does Dean.''_

_She flinches. When did her baby boy grow up?_

_He deflates at her flinch, looking down at the table. ''I don't want to hurt your feelings,'' he says quietly. ''I never wanted that. That's why I never asked. But it's... It's just time, you know? Please. Just tell me yes or no.'' He looks at her with pleading eyes and she can feel her heart crack._

_She sits there, feeling like an idiot for a long time and then she rises to her feet swiftly to clear away the plates. ''Ben, this really isn't the time to - ''_

_''Mom!''_

_She stops in her tracks on the way to the kitchen, closing her stinging eyes._

_''Please! Don't you think I deserve to know?'' Ben's voice cracks on the last word_.

_The cutlery on the plates clatter noisily when her hands begin to shake. ''Ben, I - There are... There are so many things you won't understand,'' she tells him, voice hitching as she all but staggers over to the sink to drop the dishes in quite unceremoniously. ''And I don't know if I can explain them.''_

_''Well, can't you just try?'' Suddenly he's right beside her, leaning against the sink. When he manages to catch her eye, he won't let her look away. ''Can't you just try to explain?''_

_''I don't want to disappoint you,'' she admits, wringing her hands nervously._

_Ben's face falls and his shoulders slump dejectedly. ''So it's... It's not Dean?''_

_She hesitates and then turns away from him, turning the faucet on to rinse off the dirty dishes. ''I didn't say that.''_

_''Then he is my father?''_

_''Ben - ''_

_''Will you just tell me?!''_

_''I don't know!'' She shuts off the water and whips back around to face him. There are tears gathering in her eyes and dreadful shame gnawing at her. ''Ben, I don't know who your father is.'' She has never said that out loud. It sounds even worse than it sounds in her head._

_He takes a step away from her, looking at her like she's a stranger. His gaze feels like a knife in her gut. ''What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know?''_

_''When I got pregnant with you... Honey, it was just - I had been going through a rough time and - I'm not that kind of girl, Ben. I wasn't that kind of girl. I didn't - I wasn't... Ben, please - '' She gives up on trying to make the excuses she has been concocting for twelve years and makes a desperate grab for her son instead only to have him skirt away from her. He bats her hand away with a scowl and glares at her through glossy eyes, fists clenched at his sides. See, this? This is exactly why she kept this from him. She didn't want him to look down on her. She kept it from him to keep him from getting hurt. To keep herself from getting hurt._

_Ben glares at her, eyes glimmering, swallowing hard. He opens his mouth to say something to her, something that will hurt her as much as she has hurt him, but he can't seem to get any words out. Finally, he shakes his head, lip curled in disgust, says, ''Don't talk to me,'' and then he turns and bolts._

_She wishes he had yelled at her._

.

.

.

Lisa has stopped sobbing by the end of her story. Now she's pacing wildly in front of him, distressed and guilty. There's a part of him that wants to comfort her but - _fuck_. Jesus Christ. She should be feeling fucking guilty. That's what he knows. What he doesn't know is how he should be feeling. This is a very, very unforeseen turn of events! What does one do in this kind of situation?

''You told me...'' Dean rises to his feet and tries to grasp at the words he can't decipher. ''Lisa, you told me you got him tested when he was born. You told me he wasn't mine. You told me over and over.''

She stops pacing and reluctantly lifts her shameful and red rimmed eyes to him. ''I lied.''

Actually, she didn't. Not really. Now that he's thinking about it, she never outright said _Ben is not yours._ He asked her if she was sure Ben wasn't his kid and she said... All she said was _you're off the hook._ Oh, he is so not prepared to deal with this right now. He pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a few deep breaths and then steals the wine glass off the table. While he's chugging wine, she's collapsing in a chair far away from him and putting her head between her knees. ''So all that stuff about the other guy? The guy in the bar? Was that a lie, too?''

She looks up with a heavy sigh. ''No. That was true.'' She stands and glides over to him. ''There's a reason why I don't know, Dean. There _was_ another guy. Right after you.''

''Awesome,'' he bites out. ''That is just awesome, Lise. Seriously, good for you. You got a lot of ass! Feel proud!''

She winces, chewing on her thumbnail.

He silences for a moment, trying to take in a few calming breaths. When that plan doesn't work, he resorts to plan B. Lips twisted into a frown, he locks his eyes on her and somehow manages to keep his voice low and steady. ''Why?'' He asks. ''Why couldn't you just tell me the truth when I asked?'' It goes away. The guilt; it goes away for a second. Twelve years. Twelve years and he could have had it all. He could have had a family.

Yes, a little voice says in the back of his head, but you wouldn't have had Ruby.

''Twelve years, Lisa,'' he says calmly. He thinks it is quite a feat that he's not yelling at her right now given the anger and frustration boiling inside of him. ''You've kept this secret for _twelve fucking years_. All I'm asking is why. Why did you lie to me? Why didn't you get him tested?''

The second she looks him in the eye, he knows what she's going to say and he knows it's going to hurt like a bitch. ''Because I didn't want it to be you,'' she says regretfully.

Yep. Hurts like a bitch.

''Why?'' He dodges her hand when she tries to touch him and steps away from her. ''Do you hate me that much? Am I that bad?''

''No!'' She rushes toward him, clutching at his shirt even as he tries to push her away from him. ''Dean, no. That wasn't - '' And she's crying again, big fat tears that roll down her ashen cheeks in rivulets. ''I didn't want to hurt anybody,'' her voice wobbles, ''I never wanted to hurt anybody. I didn't want to hurt Ben. I didn't want to hurt _you_.'' She says it so sincerely it's as if she's not only trying to placate him but herself as well.

He pushes her hands away, tightening his jaw. ''Yeah? Well, now we're all hurting.''

''Dean,'' her voice takes on a sharper tone as she takes the hint and backs away from hm. ''I was in a bad place when we met, all right? My father had just died and I wasn't dealing with it in the best way. I was young and stupid and hurt and we all do regretful things when we're young and stupid and hurt. And then you came along. And I _liked_ you. I liked you a lot. You made me feel things that I hadn't felt in a long time. But I knew that to you... I was just a warm body. A hot girl to shack up with for a weekend. A good time. It hurt when you left. While I _was sleeping_ \- ''

''Don't try and turn this around on me!''

''I'm not! Will you let me finish?!'' Her eyes flash. ''And the other guy -The other guy didn't mean anything. He was just a guy in a bar.'' She pauses and takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes like she's preparing herself for battle. That can't be a good sign. ''Then when you came back...'' She shakes her head until her dark hair falls in her face. ''Your life was so dangerous, Dean. I thought it would be easier on all of us if - ''

''If you lied,'' he finishes for her bitterly.

''But then you came back again!'' Her eyes light up and she places her hands flat against his chest again in an attempt to apologize. ''And you stayed. You _finally_ stayed with us and you're so great with Ben and now... Now I'm terrified that it won't be you.''

He catches her wrist when she tries to touch his face. ''Don't. _Please_.'' You know, this actually hurts quite a bit. Having the good girl part of the equation reveal she's a dirty liar stings a fair amount. Her gaze goes to the ceiling like she's praying for forgiveness, and Dean cannot handle this right now. Her confession digs deep into his skin like a knife. What is he supposed to do with it?

''I didn't mean for it to get this out of hand,'' she offers quietly.

''I want to get him tested,'' he talks over her, crossing his arms. ''I want to know if he's mine.''

''But - ''

''Really?'' He smirks cruelly. ''You're gonna fight me on this?''

Something about his tone must set her off like a freaking firecracker because her eyes harden and this time, when she grasps at his shirt it is not at all in an attempt for forgiveness. ''What if it's not you? Would it really change anything? Would you treat him any different?''

''Of course I wouldn't,'' he mutters, trying to untangle her hand from his shirt. Holy crap, she's got one hell of a grip. ''But I'd know. Don't you think that means something?''

She doesn't reply, which kills him. It's like she still doesn't want him to be Ben's father. Like she's terrified that her son could have Winchester genes. If he's being honest, he gets that. Despite the fact that he wants Ben to be his and he always has, there is still a part of him that is petrified of what it will mean for Ben if he does have that cursed blood running through his veins. Winchester men are danger prone. Dean doesn't want that for Ben. So, yes. Deep down, he understands her anguish. It's not entirely unfounded. But it still cuts deep and slices through arteries and veins and he is still a Winchester so he reacts emotionally. He turns away from her, runs a hand over his face, weighs the consequences of his next actions and then turns back around to face her, letting his own confession spill from his lips purely just to hurt her like she's hurt him.

''Lisa,'' he says. ''I kissed Ruby.''

Then he learns that Lisa ''Good Girl'' Braeden has some fire in her after all when he has to duck to avoid being pelted with the wine glass she throws at his head.

.

.

.

The wine leaves a stain. They go to bed angry. Ben locks his door, plays his music much too loudly and yells for them to go away whenever either Dean or Lisa try to talk to him. There is no such thing as perfection. Perhaps it's good that Dean has learned that before he dug himself a hole there would be no way out of. Everything has a place in this world. Everyone has a home.

Dean wonders if he's chosen the right one.

It's not Ben. Ben has never been the problem. He loves Ben. Don't tell Lisa but at first she was merely an afterthought. Ben was the real reason he came back to them. He hadn't been in love with Lisa when he found himself on her doorstep. He had loved her in some way, but he hadn't been in love with her. That came later. He came back for _Ben._

And as much as he'd love to stay and build a home for his possible son, he still can't figure out if he's really and truly in love with Lisa. He's always going to be in Ben's life whether Lisa likes it or not. Especially if he is, in fact, his father. But he's not sure how long he can keep this relationship with Lisa running on fumes.

There are two women to choose from. One of them turns things upside down and rips things apart, overturning furniture and hearts and leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. The other puts things back in their place with a soft smile and makes cookies without burning them.

Here's the thing: Dean knows exactly which one he wants and he knows exactly where he wants to be. He just doesn't know how to get there.

.

.

.

_''Everyone in this room got here somehow and everyone in this room will have to leave._  
_So what's left? Sing a song about the room we're in?''_   
**\- unfinished duet**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I realize that Dean and Ben's reaction to the whole paternity thing may have come across as unnecessarily harsh, and honestly, I'm inclined to agree. They were harsh. However, Dean is Dean and Dean has a tendency to react with his heart and gut instead of his head when it comes to things like this, and Ben... Well, Ben is a hurt and confused twelve year old boy. I mean, it sucks being twelve as it is. Now this poor kid has all of this crap on his plate. I feel it is important to add that they will both feel incredibly awful for treating her so harshly. Because they both do love her. They're just feeling a little betrayed at the moment.


	11. Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

_do we mean something when we talk_

_._

_._

_._

_''We've been driving a long time._  
_We want to stop. We can't._  
I _s there an acceptable result? Do we mean something when we talk?''_   
**\- the dislocated room**

.

.

.

Christmas sucks.

Dean spends the morning with Lisa, Ben and that brand new tension and space between all of them, and he spends the afternoon with Sam and Bobby and all the discomfort left over from Sam's failed Hell Intervention. Ruby won't answer his calls.

He knows a lot about her. Probably more than Sam considering most of her storytelling is done drunk and except for that slightly destructive one night, she seems to have cut back on her alcohol intake. And everyone knows she's not exactly one to share when she's sober. But the one thing he never knew about her is that when she decides she doesn't want to see you, she will go to great, and often times silly, lengths to avoid you.

The most he's seen of her since that fateful day was a brief flash of blond hair as she disappeared from view one day. It's not that he hasn't tried to get in touch with her because he has, but she ignores his calls, visits Sam only when she knows Dean won't be there like this is some kind of fucked up custody battle, and somehow, she has even managed to go on three hunts with them without actually sharing the same breathing space as Dean. He doesn't even know how that last one is possible but it happened. One time, she even went so far as to hide in another room and talk to Sam on the phone rather than sharing air with Dean. At this point, he is so fed up with it that he has seriously considered breaking into her apartment just to see her face. However, he is all too aware that that genius master plan would only end in her beating him to a bloody pulp.

And you know what? You know _what?_ Lisa is not any less frustrating these days. She fucking _throws_ things. All they seem to do lately is fight. If she's not yelling at him, he's yelling at her and it's all a whole big mess. Everything is in shambles and the broken pieces are so tiny he will never be able to glue them back together and it's just hit him recently that - _fuck._

He can't do this anymore.

It's not just love life problems he's dealing with, either. He's also dealing with parental/brotherly/friendship issues. Ben has become sullen and moody and barely says two words to either Dean or Lisa anymore, Sam is pretty much acting like the aforementioned twelve year old because apparently being messed up from time in Hell makes you revert in age, and he even has issues with Cas. Although, he may be willing to admit that last one could perhaps just be him being needy. Cas has problems of his own, after all. It's not like he can help Dean with his love triangle from hell or his increasingly strange brother or his not-even-a-teenager-yet possible lovechild because let's face it, Cas' ''people skills'' are still ''rusty.''

The weather gets cold and bitter, and the inside of the Braeden house follows suit right along with it. The holidays pass and the New Year begins and for Dean, everything seems to be stuck at a stalemate. Next thing he knows it's his birthday. Well, super. That's just fan-fucking-tastic. He's thirty three and he still hasn't fixed anything.

Oh no. That doesn't make him feel like a loser at all.

His life is turning into a soap opera, isn't it?

.

.

.

Ben's life is turning into a network television dramedy. There is no way of escaping that unfortunate truth. His life is turning into a primetime supernatural family drama on crack. And it sucks. It really sucks. Everything is messed up. Dean and Mom are fighting constantly, he still doesn't know who his father is and he's pretty sure he's failing English.

The thing that really brings him down is the fact that Mom and Dean's relationship is deteriorating awfully fast. They fight about everything these days. When Mom isn't picking apart every little thing Dean does and throwing Ruby in his face (something went down there but Ben doesn't know for sure), Dean is throwing the whole paternity issue and Mom's continued reluctance to get the DNA test right back at her. And they never touch anymore. Unless it's like a bad touch. 'Cause Mom likes to throw things. Usually when Ruby's name comes into play. Mom has some major issues with Ruby. Dean should be thankful she hasn't thrown pointy things. He should also be thankful she has terrible aim.

With each passing day, things become more and more strained between them and it's painfully obvious that at this point, they're only fooling themselves with this sham. 'Cause, hell, if it's painfully obvious to a twelve year old it's gotta be agonizingly obvious to everyone else, right?

Yes, Ben is aware that he was once determined to believe Dean and Mom were meant to be. He used to tell himself that if Dean ever broke Mom's heart, Ben would never forgive him. But these days...

He's smart enough to know that whichever way this thing plays out, somebody's heart is going to get broken. He'd love it if Mom and Dean worked it out, regardless of whether or not Dean turns out to be his father. All kids want their parents to be together. That's natural. But if Dean stays with Mom multiple hearts are going to be stomped on quite brutally and the fighting won't stop. It won't ever stop.

You probably don't know this about him but Ben is a master in the art of body language. He doesn't know why he was gifted with this odd and somewhat endearing quality. He just knows that he can read bodies like the pages of a book. Bodies say as much as mouths sometimes. Mom and Dean's bodies are all but screaming.

_Tell me the lies I need,_ her body says. _Tell me you love me. Tell me you'll stay. Tell me we can get past this, that you'll forgive me, that I'll be able to look at you without seeing_ _her. Just tell me something good._

And as for Dean? his body language is far more subtle but it's there all the same, and his body seems to be pleading for something else entirely. _Tell me to leave, Lisa. Tell me it won't break you if I choose her. Tell me you won't take him away from me._

They're incredibly sad, tangled stories that Ben sometimes has a hard time sorting through, and he can try and try but in the end, he can't write these sordid fairytales for them. Sometimes the best thing to do - the _healthiest_ thing to do - is to just let go.

Ben just wishes Mom and Dean would see that.

.

.

.

The boy kicks at the rocks on the sidewalk with a passionate fervor born out of anger and frustration. His backpack is heavy, weighed down by homework and textbooks with fine print that hurts his eyes. (Secret time: Ben has these really dorky looking glasses that he's supposed to wear but he hates them. Boy, was he ever glad when he ''lost'' them.) His heart is heavier than his backpack, filled to the brim with angst, guilt and confusion he can't handle properly.

He misses when life was uncomplicated. He misses Indiana (he doesn't mind living in Brookings, South Dakota, really, it's just not  _home_ to him) and he misses all his old friends and his old house and Grandma and Aunt Lindsay. He misses the way it was for that one precious year. It wasn't that long ago that his life was great. He had Mom and he had Dean and all in all, he was a very happy boy. It wasn't that long ago. It _wasn't._ But it feels like it was years ago. Like all of that perfection, however fake it may have been, is so far out of his reach that he'll never get it back. He lets out a sigh when he turns the corner and his house looms in front of him. He drags his feet and walks slowly, putting off getting home for as long as he can. He knows at least one of them will be home and they've both been walking on eggshells around him ever since that night. It's as if they're afraid he's a bomb that will go off. He hates it.

It's while he's forcing himself up the front pathway that he hears it. The unmistakable sound of shouting that he has been forced to get used to. Ben grimaces and thinks about turning and running away. Their voices are muffled by the four walls of the house, indistinguishable hollers and yells drifting through the air. His breath hangs in the air when he heaves another sigh. Reluctantly, he makes himself open the door.

''Why are you doing this, Lisa?!'' Dean is shouting. He sounds desperate and tired and Ben can't see them, but he's pretty sure Mom is probably crying again. ''Why can't we just get the test done? Ben needs to know who his father is! _I_ need to know! Look, are you doing this just to hurt me? Because okay, fine. I get it. I deserve that. But Ben doesn't.''

There's a pause, Mom says something in a low tone of voice that Ben can't quite make out.

Dean says, ''What does Ruby have to do with any of this?''

Then there's a crash and Mom screaming out, voice trembling. ''Don't say her name!''

'' _You_ just said her name!''

Ben weighs his options and then ducks back outside, closing the door quietly. He sits himself down on the cold steps and drops his chin into the palm of his hand. He wonders how long it will take for them to figure out he's not there.

Maybe he shouldn't have brought it up. You know? If he had never asked maybe things would still be okay. Maybe Mom and Dean wouldn't fight constantly. See. _See._ This is why he didn't ask these questions. This is exactly why he never asked his mom about his dad. Bad things happen when he opens his mouth.

He wishes he had a time machine. He's not stupid. He knows that whatever Mom and Dean had was broken beyond repair from the start. But it worked for a little while, didn't it? Everybody was happy for awhile, weren't they? Why can't they go back to that? They are not meant to be. They're not. He can't get around that. He just wishes they _were._

There's a loud shout from inside that Ben is pretty sure contains a swear word. He rolls his eyes, sucks in a breath and blinks when his eyes prickle out of frustration. And then there's a moment, a long moment that feels like hours, where he remembers there is a bus station a few blocks away. Hey, he's got money, he's got problems. He's got all the criteria for a runaway. ...But he doesn't have the guts. Running away wouldn't solve anything; it'd just give him more problems.

He pinches his lips together and checks his watch. Mom and Dean are still fighting like cats and dogs and it could be who knows how long before they bother to check the clock. Most days when they're fighting, he sneaks inside without them noticing and hides in his room. The first couple times they freaked out on him and told him that they thought he was missing and he has to tell them when he gets home to avoid copious amounts of panic. After awhile, they got used to it. So, in theory, if he did run away, they probably wouldn't even be aware of it until dinner when one of them enters his fortress of solitude to drag him out for a silent and tense dinner.

The truth is he doesn't really want to run away. He loves Mom and he loves Dean and he doesn't want to do that to either of them. All he really wants is someone to talk to. Someone who would have some semblance of understanding...

Hmm.

Curiously, Ben rises to his feet, brushes off his jeans and takes a few experimental steps towards the sidewalk that runs in the direction of the bus station. He takes a few more steps and then he gets brave. With a deep breath, he walks until he's around the corner. Nothing terrible has happened so far. His parents are not chasing after him. He could do it, you know. He could do it right now and they couldn't stop him.

He brings a finger to his lips thoughtfully, looks behind him, tilts his head towards the sky, and then he smirks.

The echoes of the fights don't follow him when he walks away.

.

.

.

Life is like a broken vacancy sign on a roadside motel. It flickers. It lets you down after a long journey, after you've been driving and driving and driving and all you want to do is sleep but you can't because those flickering broken vacancies won't let you off the ride. Do you know what that's like? What that feels like? To be let down like that? Chances are you probably do.

Ruby does.

She knows what it's like to be _tired._ Not just tired. _Tired._ Worn out. Rode hard and put away wet, is what she would say. She feels older than she is, and she's _hundreds of years_ _old._ The pressure pushes her under. Literally.

She has a dream once. In the dream, she's in the dirty claw foot bathtub in her apartment, the water around her is warm, and then she starts to bleed. Yes, it is as sudden as it sounds. Pain shoots through her flesh like a knife slicing, she lifts her arms out of the water and there is Latin carved into her skin, an exorcism that makes blood drip, drip, drip into the water. Then the door creaks, except it doesn't, and an imaginary hand that isn't there pulls her under the water and won't let her breathe. She fights and kicks and claws at the tub, surfacing moments later to choke in the air she needs. When she is pulled under once again, the water sizzles and burns her skin and she bubbles and boils. It's holy water, and it's trying to drown her in fire. There's a hand she can't see pushing her under now and the Latin on her arms won't stop bleeding. In the nightmare, she fights her way to the surface once again, burning and coughing and bleeding just long enough to see who is holding her under.

She expects it to be Crowley.

It's Dean.

He pushes her under again because she's the weed not the flower and weeds need to be killed.

Then she wakes up. She jerks awake in the bathtub, rises to the surface, water splashes over the edge as she gasps for air and the moisture leaking out of the corner of her eyes is only water. That is what she tells herself.

It is a ghastly fate to be so tired that it seeps into your bones and your bloodstream but you still can't sleep because you're terrified you won't ever wake up again. Nobody should ever be afraid to close their eyes.

Do you know who is not helping with her crippling depression-like symptoms? No, go ahead. Take a wild guess. Shot in the dark.

It's Crowley. And all of the guilt that comes with him. She is keeping things from the Winchester brothers. Things that could either hurt or heal them. Things that they have a right to know. Dean and Sam think she can't lie. In fact, Sam told her once, ''I don't know why I ever thought she was you. She lied flawlessly. It was second nature to her. But you... I don't know how I ever thought she could be you. You can't lie. Even before, when you told me you could help Dean, I figured you were lying. You can't lie worth shit.''

''I can lie just fine,'' she had snapped back.

''No. You can tell _stories_ just fine. But lying? It's not in you. Like when you insist you're not as damaged as us. Clever little lie, but not believable in the least.''

His little speech reminds her of something Dean once told her. ''We all lie, Ruby. Everybody in the world is a liar. For a lot of different reasons, about a lot of different things. But you lie in some misguided attempt to be invincible. Tell me why that is, sweetheart. Come on. You wanna see my scars? I gotta see yours first.''

She wonders what they would think of her lying abilities now.

.

.

.

Sam doesn't know why he's back or how and it's killing him inside. Ruby thinks she might know exactly why he's here again.

Crowley has never confirmed nor denied that he was the one who took Sam out of the cage, and he has never told her why. At night, she sees Sam in her dreams. He's so lost and he's reaching for something he can't grasp and all Ruby wants to do it drag him back to the surface and tell him why he's here but she can't. If she tells...

If she tells then they'll go after Crowley and she can't let that happen because... Because she doesn't want to die. If she tells, they'll know what he's done to her, what he's made of her and nobody is supposed to know that.

She's not sure what day it is but she thinks it might be a Wednesday when she walks into Crowley's lair of her own free will, something she has never done before, in search of answers. She walks the grimy halls with confidence she can't actually muster up and when she turns a corner, he's there. That seems to be the way it always goes with them. Whatever corner she turns, Crowley is there. Welcome to her life.

In a strange turn of events, he stays silent. He eyes her carefully, looks her up and down and then lets out a small sigh. She backs away from him when he tries to slither closer to her. ''Did you do it?'' She asks quietly.

He snakes forwards until he's impossibly close, brushing hair away from her neck. ''Do what, kitten?''

She resists the urge to swat his hand away, swallowing bile when he touches her. ''You _know_ what. Did you bring Sam back?''

He stops, steps back and gives her an unimpressed look. ''Well,'' he says dryly. ''That certainly killed the mood.'' A nasty scoff rips through his lips and he shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disappointment. ''My God, Ruby, can't we have one conversation that doesn't involve one of the Hardy Boys? Just because you think the world begins and ends with them does not mean we all do.'' He grins, eyes dancing with an ugly mirth that twists into her like a jagged knife. She shouldn't be as afraid of him as she is. That's not who she is. ''Allow me to give you some helpful advice, kitten,'' he offers lightly. ''You want them? Take them. Get it all out of your system. Make yourself a Winchester sandwich. And when you decide you're tired of boys, you come to me.''

''Why?'' She asks, the words slipping out before she can stop them. ''You going to introduce me to a man? Because I know you can't be talking about yourself.''

His response is a laugh, tilting her chin up while he gives her a toothy smile and an unforgiving leer. ''Honestly, darling,'' he admonishes. ''Sooner rather than later, I'm going to get tired of the chase and I'm just going to _take_ \- '' his finger trails down her chest '' - what I want.''

His implication alludes to something dark and grisly that makes her either want to plead for mercy or kill him in cold blood. It is also, unfortunately, nothing new. She has gotten used to these kinds of comments and really, that makes her sick. These are not the kinds of comments she should be getting used to. But what can she do? She can't kill him. Can't tell on him. Any way you slice it she's trapped. And it's not the flippant remarks about what he wants to do to her that bother her. She can handle words. Sticks and stones. She just doesn't know what she'll do when the day comes where he decides to follow through on his threats.

He winks at her, smile widening when she looks away from him with a grimace of disgust, and then he turns and saunters away from her. Clearly, he thinks he's more than he is. It is almost pathetic. Or it would be. If she wasn't even more pathetic than he is. Not even five minutes alone with the man and she already feels like she needs to take a shower. Crowley always has made her feel unclean. It's like she can scrub and scrub but she'll never be able to get him off of her.

Sometimes he looks at her and she feels like she felt right before she died. The first time. Sick and tired with sweat soaked hair plastering itself to her forehead and she could scratch and scratch but she couldn't get it out and she had to die alone because there was nobody left to love her except for the older sister who used to kick dirt in her eyes when they were kids and who might as well have killed Ruby herself. Crowley looks at her exactly like big sister used to look at her and that is like gravel digging into the palm of her hand.

_Margaret_ is the whole reason this stupid life started. _Margaret_ is the reason she's here. Ruby allows herself to forget about a lot of things but she can't forget _that._

''Crowley!'' She breaks into a run, chasing after him. She catches up to him just as he's opening a door that probably leads to some sort of twisted torture chamber she does _not_ want to be in. She races forwards, slips in front of him and blocks the door.

He looks genuinely surprised. ''You are a brave little thing, aren't you? That's about the one thing I can't cut out, isn't it?''

''I know it was you,'' she says strongly, holding her head high. ''I know you brought him back. I know that. Those dots are easy to connect. What I don't know is why. What's he to you?''

He looks at her for a moment with an arched eyebrow, and then he shrugs. ''Simple, Ruby. He's leverage. I thought you would have been smart enough to - ''

''Bullshit.''

He freezes. His jaw clenches, he takes a step back, gives her a critical onceover and crosses his arms. Eyebrows furrowed together in what looks to be honest to God confusion, he leans in closer until he's barely inches away from her. ''Did you just interrupt me?''

Yeah, that part kinda surprised her too given how petrified she is of him. ''You've got your leverage,'' she continues flawlessly. ''And it is way better than holding Sam's life over my head. You're a smart guy, Crowley. That's what makes you so dangerous. You know that if you ever lay one finger on either of those men I will take my knife and shove it right through my heart and that means you _lose._ You wouldn't risk that. No,'' her lips curve into a frown and she folds her arms. ''There's another reason why you brought Sam back. You didn't just yank him out of the cage either. You brought him back with his soul and his memories of Hell intact. To me that only means one thing. You _wanted_ him to suffer. The thing I can't figure out is why. What did he ever do to you?''

A ripping snarl leaves his lips and he slams his hands against the wall, one on either side of her head. She flinches against her will, but doesn't struggle to free herself. She also doesn't hurry to please him, which she's sure he's expecting. She will pay dearly for this puzzling act of courage, she can tell you that right now. However, this is Sam we're talking about and he means more than she could ever hope to. ''That's none of your business, Jessica Fletcher,'' he growls out.

She twists her lips into a firm scowl and meets his eyes. ''Sam is my business. Tell me why you're doing this to him.''

His reaction is, to her, something akin to a bomb going off. His meaty hand wraps around her throat in the span of about a second and then her back is hitting the wall hard. The back of her head smashes against the wall painfully, stars explode being her eyes and there's a roaring in her ears. She can't get air to reach her lungs and her hands instinctively reach up to claw at him. ''Think real hard, you little brat,'' he spits out. ''Why do I do anything? Who is all of this for?''

Her blood runs cold and her heart drops right down to her stomach, a gag rising in her throat. ''What... What does she have to do with Sam?'' She chokes out, gasping pathetically for air.

He sneers and throws her up against the opposite wall, looking like he takes immense pleasure in watching her slide to the ground. She gulps in a few unsteady breaths of air and clutches at her sore throat. ''You honestly haven't figured it out yet?'' He asks with a laugh, placing his hands on his hips. ''I'm surprised at you, Ruby. I thought for sure you would have connected these dots by now.'' She grimaces and starts to haul herself to her feet. His foot collides hard with her stomach and she tumbles back to the ground, letting out a small yelp of pain. ''It would be in your best interest to stay down,'' he tells her calmly. ''You're already treading on thin ice with me, my dear.''

Ruby has the sudden urge to lunge for his jugular and rip it out with her teeth. She swallows that impulse right back down.

Crowley heaves an impatient sigh and shakes his head, crouching in front of her. ''Did you really think it was just some random Lucifer groupie who took your place?'' He waggles a disapproving finger in her face. ''Oh, no, no, no, darling. This was a clever little scheme made for your life and your life only. If this mysterious body snatcher just wanted to get close to those boys, she could've taken anybody's place. A Harvelle woman would have been an easy target. But no. They chose you. Now,'' he cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. ''What demon skank do we know who wants to punish you?''

She closes her eyes. Is she bleeding? She feels like she's bleeding. ''It - It was her?'' She opens her eyes reluctantly, lump in her throat. This is wonderful news to receive. She knew that bitch hated her but she never thought... She should've known. ''She did this to me?''

He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. ''Does that really surprise you?''

''It shouldn't,'' she whispers. She shakes it away and looks up at him, sucking in a breath. ''So, you're torturing Sam because... Because why? Because he took her from you?''

''Suppose you could phrase it that way. Also, he's a pain.'' He smiles pleasantly, grabs her arm and unceremoniously lifts her to her feet, smoothing down her hair and brushing off her shirt for her. ''She actually developed feelings for the whiny little child. Do you believe that? And the whole time he thought he was sleeping with you.'' He clicks his tongue. ''That must be bloody uncomfortable for you.''

It takes her awhile to formulate a response to that because she's too busy trying to let all of this new information sink in. ''So,'' she finally begins quietly. ''Everyone's gotta pay, huh?'' A shaky smirk starts on her lips. ''Me, Sam, Josef... We're all just collateral damage?''

He looks at her for close to a minute and then he brings his hand up to caress her cheek. It's an odd unfittingly gentle gesture. Until his nails begin to dig into her cheek. ''We all have to pay for our sins, Ruby,'' he says.

''These aren't my sins.''

He throws his arms out. ''Am I really supposed to care? You're the only one left. You're _close enough_.'' And then he shoves her to the ground and walks away, leaving her to wallow in her terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

She stays on the dirty ground and wishes she wasn't here.

.

.

.

Okay, so here's the deal:

In her human life, Ruby was a sweet, loving and caring individual (if not possibly a little weak). She did not inherit any of her sweetness from her mother. Her gentle nature was all her father. Her younger siblings, Cecily and Matthew, were cared for mostly by her (look, her mother was a heartless bitch who didn't give a damn about her children, all right?) and had impeccable manners and beautiful personalities. They would have thrived as much as was possible back then if they had the chance to live out their lives.

But Ruby's older sister, Margaret? She was all _Mother._ That, you should know, was a _Very Bad Thing._

Ruby had never been close to Margaret. And it wasn't that they didn't bond, it wasn't that their personalities didn't mesh, it wasn't even the age gap. It was because Margaret was a rough, callous, manipulative, cunning, shallow, mean-spirited _bitch._ Ruby tries to block out the memories of her older sister. For good reason. The memories she has of Margaret are not ones that make her heart swell with joy. The bitter truth is, Ruby's most vivid memories of her older sister are of when teenage Margaret used to beat on her.

Margaret would shove her down and kick dirt in her face, she'd trip her, burn her, push her. She used to do this one thing - it was her favourite - where she'd offer to do the mending and then she would prick Ruby with the needle over and over and over again. It was brutal. It was honestly gruesome. Then she would laugh and their mother would laugh with her. And all of this happened before Margaret was married off to a man named Roger when she was fifteen. So, yeah, Margaret was a fucked up little freak and Ruby was glad when she was gone.

Ruby has never pretended that her childhood was all sunshine and roses but these are the memories she wishes hell had burned out of her.

When Margaret left home with Roger, she was fifteen and Ruby was nine. Margaret never kept in touch and Ruby tried to forget she existed because she had things to do and a cruel mother to please. The years passed, Ruby cared for Cecily and tried to keep their mother from turning her into the next Margaret, Daddy died, Mother died giving birth to Matthew (and perhaps that was why Matthew meant so much to Ruby - he had done what she had never had the guts to do) and Ruby had kids to raise.

Honestly?

After Margaret was gone, Ruby did her best to pretend she had never had an older sister and the scars on her body didn't exist. But then when Matthew was five and Cecily was thirteen, the Black Death came. Enter Margaret, her tempting promises and her _witchcraft._

The only good thing Margaret ever did for Ruby was leave, allowing Ruby to raise the kids without an ounce of Margaret's venom in them. You could perhaps argue that in addition to raising Cecily and Matthew to be well mannered gorgeous children, she made sure Ruby got to meet the Winchester brothers.

Hell is a prison carved out of broken dreams and, as cliché as it sounds, good intentions. But it's a large prison. The first eternity Ruby spent in hell was spent trying to simultaneously hold onto her humanity, find Josef and keep away from Margaret.

In the hundreds of years they spent breathing the same putrid air down below, Ruby and Margaret only crossed paths a handful of times. Apparently a handful of times was enough for Margaret to decide Ruby needed to be punished.

Lesson time.

Question: What is the one good thing to come of Margaret's little identity scheme?

Answer: Dean stuck a knife in the bitch. Ding fucking dong, the witch is dead.

.

.

.

Eventually, Ruby ends up back home, trying and failing to stop thinking about her life back then. What would her life have been like if everything had gone right? What would have become of her if tragedy hadn't picked apart her life with a vengeance? Well, let's see. She would have continued raising Cecily and Matthew, married Henry the handsome blacksmith, and had a bunch of kids. She probably would've died in childbirth in her mid to late thirties and eventually, the history books would've forgotten that she and her family had ever existed. Maybe someday, one of her descendants would have met a Winchester.

All in all, she really hates being a demon sometimes and right now her life lacks a lot of the things she wants, but this is who she was meant to become. She was meant to become a demon, to meet Josef again, to meet the Winchesters. She can't live in the past anymore. It shouldn't work that way.

She is just tossing her keys on the table when she hears it. She's not exactly sure what the noise is from behind her, she's not sure it can be described but it's almost like the rustling of - No. Now wait a minute. That can't be right. She stands ramrod straight when she becomes aware of the unearthly presence behind her and whirls around, hands curling into fists.

As soon as she sees who it is, she relaxes, letting out a breath.

He scrutinizes her thoroughly with his head tilted to the side and then nods as if to say _oh, all right, you may be an abomination but you are not an immediate threat to me so I_ _won't smite you right now_. ''I don't believe we've been properly introduced,'' he says, voice inconceivably soft. ''You must be Ruby.''

She gulps nervously and nods, edging towards him tentatively. ''You must be Castiel.''

.

.

.

_''They want to stop but they don't stop. They cannot get the bullet out._  
_Cut me open and the light streams out._  
_Stitch me up and the light keeps streaming out between_  
_the stitches.''_   
**\- the dislocated room**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY.


	12. Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

_you swallow my heart_

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.

.

_''I'm battling monsters, I'm pulling you out of the burning buildings  
_ _and you say I'll give you anything but you never come through.''_  
 **\- wishbone**

.

.

.

Bobby hesitates around him these days. That is what Sam has noticed. Bobby hesitates, speaks tentatively and edges around Sam like he's a creature from outer space. It hurts. It leaves bruises. Because Bobby is _Bobby_ , and Sam really hates that he has become wary of him.

He tries his damndest to act like the Sam everyone expects him to be, the man he was before, but that is just not in the cards anymore. And it's not as if there isn't a reason for Bobby to be a tad anxious around him. In all honesty, Sam can't blame the guy. He's becoming increasingly dependent on those damned pills (and he gets the feeling Bobby suspects he is self-medicating) but he's sober enough to know his attitude has been erratic at best since he got back from Hell. Bobby's reaction is not at all unwarranted.

Sam works at being all right, you know. He works harder than he has ever worked in his life to be okay. To move past this. To be the Sam people want him to be. To be the _Sammy_ Dean _needs_ him to be. But he can't sleep at night without the pills and he's starting to realize that he can't do much else without them either. It feels like he's falling. The ground is disappearing beneath his feet and he's free falling into The Pit again.

The feeling of falling has been a fear he has wrestled with ever since he was a kid, except that when he was a kid and he'd start to feel like he was losing control and falling, all stifled screams and bottled hysteria as he scratched around for something to hold onto, Dean was always there to catch him. Unfortunately, now he's All Growed Up, strong and tall, and he's supposed to catch himself. It wouldn't be so bad, really, if only he could remember how to at least cushion his, at this point inevitable, descent.

.

.

.

While Dean is off carefully sifting through his personal life issues, Sam is out working a case. Hunting takes the edge off, don't you know. Isn't that what those pills are supposed to do? ...No. The pills help him breathe. Hunting helps him focus.

Somewhere between doses and highs, Sam finds himself going to Bobby for help like he has done countless other times. Life is made of patterns and going to Bobby for help is one of the easiest patterns he knows.

Currently, Bobby is alternating between researching and eyeing Sam carefully with that same worried, paternal look Sam remembers seeing in his father's eyes many, _many_ times. He is restlessly flicking through the pages of an old and worn volume, bouncing on the balls of his feet because he can't seem to stay still (probably because he's _high_ ) and then his cell phone rings. He drops the book back onto the table, ignores Bobby's disapproving frown at the treatment of his book, fishes the phone out of his pocket, doesn't bother to check Caller ID and answers with a weary ''Hello?'' as he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

In response to his quiet, harmless greeting, he gets a loud and slightly obnoxious scream of his name. It is oddly high pitched and panicked sounding.

He nearly drops the phone, fumbling helplessly. Bobby almost cracks a smile. ''Whoa, dude. _Volume_.'' On the other end of the line, Dean is babbling incessantly, voice breathless and about a hair away from hyperventilation territory. Sam can't quite understand what he's talking about, but he figures if Dean is this panicked, it can't be good. ''Dean,'' he puts a hand over his other ear and struggles to understand Dean's mile a minute hollering. ''Man, you gotta slow down. ...'Cause I can't understand a word of what you're saying, that's why. ...What about him? He's all right, isn't he? ...What do you mean he's missing?''

Bobby looks up sharply, worry flashing through his eyes.

Sam feels his headache worsening. Well, holy shit, let's add some more drama to this fucked up jigsaw puzzle. ''...No, yes, I know what missing means, Dean. Are you sure he's...okay...okay...Dean, I said okay! I'm on my way right now. ...Yes, I'll call her if you think it would help. I didn't know Ben and Ruby were close. ...I'm not being a smartass, I'm just saying - ''

And then he yanks open the front door and the rest of his sentence is quickly eaten up by the shock that washes over him. Behind him, Bobby curses, throws his hands up in the air and stalks away, most likely to get a beer.

Hand poised to knock, Ben Braeden sheepishly lifts a hand in a half wave, a dark blush creeping up his neck. ''Um, hi there. How's it hanging?''

Sam sighs into the phone, heartbeat returning to normal. ''I got him. He's here.''

Dean lets out a wail on the other end. Actually, it's not so much a wail, really, it's more of a groan/sigh/scream of frustration and it is quickly followed by kind of a loud thump so Sam's guessing one of Lisa's walls now has a hole in it. At least a dent. The thud is then followed by a long, rambling list of urgent instructions and questions that Sam honestly isn't sure he can keep up with. He beckons the nervous looking boy inside as Dean spouts off a list, shutting the door. This is a very odd, unusual and unforeseen situation but Sam makes a decision right then and there to take it at least better than Dean is.

''Ben,'' he says seriously, holding the phone away from his ear. ''Your...'' He pauses, trips over the word father and then wisely retracts it. He has never been particularly clear on the matter of Ben's parentage. All he's ever gotten from Dean is a short bark of _I don't want to talk about it, Sam_. ''...Dean would like to know if you're all right.''

Ben nods slowly, scuffing at the ground. ''I'm all right.''

''You're not hurt?''

''No.''

''Bad grade?''

''No.''

''Are you running from the law?''

''No.''

''You get a girl pregnant?''

''No.''

''Dean says he's out of explanations for your behavior.''

Ben hesitates, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. ''...They won't stop fighting.''

There's a long drawn out pause on all ends of the conversation, and Sam can't figure out what to say to that. He knows Dean and Lisa are in the middle of _something_ but he didn't know it was this bad. Truth is... He likes Lisa. That's the truth. She's a nice woman, she treats Dean well, and she can give him the family he wants. But it all comes back to Ruby. Sam knows that now. He didn't before, but he sure as hell does now. Ruby's the fire in Dean's eyes. She's the light, the _it for me, man_ , the want Dean shouldn't have. And somehow, she has always managed to evoke more passion and emotion than Lisa ever will and that's just the way things are.

''Dean,'' Sam says slowly. ''You still there?''

Ben shifts from foot to foot and stares down at the ground guiltily. Sam has a flash of empathy. Years ago, he was in that same spot. He knows what it feels like to be a lost twelve year old. Doesn't everybody know what it feels like to be a lost, confused and hurt twelve year old?

''Ben, Dean says he's sorry but that doesn't justify putting him and your mother through hell. He says you better be ready to stare at the four walls of your room until you're thirty ...He'd also like you to know that he's gonna friggin' thump your ass.''

The boy sighs dejectedly, but nods and accepts his punishment with dignity. ''That's fair.''

When Sam finally manages to hang up, he's left staring at a hurt and confused boy. Naturally, he then considers calling out to Bobby for some assistance. It's the pattern, remember? ''Well,'' he finally drawls. ''Now that we've got your hysterical...Dean...calmed down... Hi, Ben. It's nice to see you again. Can I ask what you're doing here of all places?''

Ben looks up, a certain familiar ferocity starting in his eyes for the first time since he stepped foot in the door. ''I'm here because I want to talk to you,'' he says confidently.

Sam can't help but glance behind him in a pathetic act of desperate hope that Ben is talking to Bobby or someone else more qualified for matters of the preteen heart. ''You want to talk to me?'' He echoes dubiously. ''Are you sure because most kids sort of think I'm a tree and,'' he folds his arms over his chest, the dry tone of his voice sounding perhaps a bit too stand offish even to his own ears. ''Talking to trees is generally frowned upon unless you're a wood nymph.''

A small smirk flashes on the kid's face for about a fraction of a second, quickly shaken away by Ben's determined shake of his head. ''I want to know something,'' he declares, dropping his backpack on the ground. ''I want to know what it's like.''

''What what's like?''

''What it's like to be a Winchester.''

.

.

.

Ruby isn't at all sure how to react to this. There is an angel in her apartment staring at her like he's waiting for her to say something meaningful and she doesn't like it, but her first instinct is to call Dean and tell him to come and get his pet angel out of here before he decides to smite her. Castiel stares at her and she stares back because neither of them enjoys being the first to look away but his eyes are like knives and she soon grows uncomfortable under his steely gaze and has to look away. The guy has got an unnatural stare. It's not like it's the patented Dean Winchester smolder or the Sam Winchester puppy dog eyes. It's a weird, all knowing look that makes her squirm and - oh, is this what people feel like when she stares at them?

''So what do you want?'' She asks softly. ''Why are you here?''

He looks at her for another moment like he's reading her mind and then he takes a step towards her. It's instinct and an act of self preservation for her to dart backwards. It's only an instinct, a gut reaction. She gets the feeling he sees much more in her actions than she does. ''You do that a lot, don't you?'' He questions. ''Flinch?''

She attempts to brush it off and pretend she doesn't understand what he's implying. She fails horribly.

''It's common,'' he informs her. ''For people in your situation.''

''My situation,'' she repeats bitterly, moving away from him to lean against the kitchen counter. ''What exactly is my situation?'' He doesn't respond to that. At least not verbally. His lips purse together and he flicks a piece of invisible lint off of his trench coat. She really doesn't understand how he can say more without saying a word, but she doesn't appreciate what she believes he thinks of her. ''You don't know anything about me or my _situation_ ,'' she snarls out defensively. ''I am not some battered housewife. I am not some...some - ''

''Human?''

''Yes! I'm not a human. I'm stronger than that.''

''You should be.''

She has to stop to take a deep breath. ''Why are you even pretending to care?'' She snorts out, crossing her arms. ''You're an angel, I'm a demon. Mortal enemies and all that. Shouldn't you want to smite me?''

''You're not meant to be here,'' he agrees bluntly, looking around the room critically. ''But,'' he adds on. ''I suppose - '' and this is where an unidentifiable light starts in his eyes; for a second she could've sworn it was emotion '' - neither am I.''

She doesn't know how to respond to that. She wants to say something powerful and deep that scares him so much he leaves, but she can't find her voice. She turns away from him and walks away in order to sink onto the couch instead. She stares at the wall across from her, dirty and water stained. ''Well, then,'' she says at last. ''Here we are. Two supernatural entities who don't belong. You want to start a club?''

He lets out a huff of breath that could almost be described as something like laughter. She throws a look over her shoulder to say something but frowns when all she sees is an empty space where he used to be. She turns back around and has to swallow a startled gasp when she sees him standing in front of her. ''Crowley will kill you,'' he says simply. ''Sooner or later, he'll tire of you and rip you to shreds. You know that, don't you?''

She smirks up at him dryly. ''Everybody's gotta die sometime, right?''

He doesn't even pretend to believe her on that one. ''Except that you don't want to die,'' he says softly. ''That's what he's holding against you.'' His lips twitch in triumph when she tenses. ''Isn't that right?'' When she doesn't answer him, the disapproval gleams in his eyes and there is annoyance in the line of his lips. For about a half a second, she thinks he's actually going to say something to encourage her to fight for her life. He doesn't. ''I'd offer you my help,'' he says, ''but you wouldn't appreciate the consequences of what I'd have to do. More importantly, _Dean_ wouldn't appreciate the consequences.''

She decides to forego pondering the meaning of that and leans back against the couch, looking up at him smugly instead. ''And so we've arrived at the real reason for your visit. Dean. Your purpose for being. It's always about Dean with you, isn't it?''

A smirk he has undoubtedly learned from said Winchester starts on his lips as he peers down at her through his eyelashes like he's scolding her. ''Something we have in common, then.''

The smirk dies on her lips and she jolts forwards, twisting her face into a glare. ''Listen, wingboy - ''

''He cares about you to a degree I didn't think possible,'' he says, talking right over her. He looks her up and down, from her head to her feet and she gets the distinct feeling he's trying to figure out if she's good enough for his precious Dean.

''Because I'm a demon?'' She challenges.

''Because you've deeply hurt him in the past,'' he corrects. ''Even if he has never said those words out loud.''

She flinches visibly. ''That wasn't me.''

''He thought it was.''

He drifts away from her, striding back into the kitchen. Much to her chagrin, he then goes right through her kitchen and towards her bedroom because apparently angels know nothing about the rules of privacy. ''Hey!'' She squeaks out, leaping to her feet to chase after him. ''Boundaries, Roma Downey!''

''Regardless of your past indiscretions,'' he's saying calmly, cutting her off before she can begin to formulate an objection to the talk of her past indiscretions. It's terribly unfair she has to live with a scarlet letter because of something her sister did. ''Dean seems to think very highly of you these days. I didn't understand why. I wanted to see why.''

''And did you?''

He stops in his tracks so suddenly that she bumps right into him. He whirls around to face her, tilting his head to the side. ''Ruby,'' he says, and then stops and has to start over. ''Ruby, would you like me to tell you how Dean feels about you? I could. I could tell you all of the things he has told me about the way he cares greatly for you, even though he shouldn't. Often times, with humans, the things they shouldn't want become the very things they need. Do you want me to tell you those stories?''

That's a very intense question to ask. ''I don't think that's a good idea,'' she says after a long moment of contemplation.

He turns away without a word and she brings a hand to her throat in case she needs to claw at it to get air to reach her lungs. ''You,'' she clears her throat, hand clenching and unclenching into a fist at her side. ''You don't think a relationship between Dean and I would cross some lines that shouldn't be crossed?'' She asks the question without knowing what kind of answer she really wants to receive. Maybe it would be easier to hear that she and Dean are an unnatural mismatched pair that were doomed from the start, but a bigger part of her just wants to hear that she could have a chance. She wants to know that maybe someday she could get the ending that has slipped through her fingers and disappeared between the cracks. She can't have Dean. That doesn't mean, as we've discovered the problem to be, that she doesn't want him.

''You cross one line, Ruby,'' Castiel plucks a discarded leather jacket from its place strewn over the back of a chair. ''You draw another. Cross that line, draw another. And so on and so on until there are no more lines. I believe the humans call that fighting for their lives.'' He recovers something from the pocket of her jacket without asking and holds it up to the light. It's small and silver and shiny and she has no idea how it got in her jacket pocket.

''I didn't take that,'' she says slowly.

He frowns at her, almost as if he doesn't believe her, but then he drapes the jacket back over the chair, crosses the room and presses Dean's silver ring into the palm of her hand like he is trying to carve a word into her skin. ''If I have learned anything from the humans,'' he tells her, ''it's that things always wind up where they're meant to be. You should remember that.''

She sags heavily against the doorframe as he brushes past her. Suddenly all she wants to do is go to bed. It's been a long night. ''I must be really pitiful,'' she says weakly, ''to have an angel on my side.''

''I'm not on your side,'' he informs her plainly. ''I'm on Dean's side. When the time comes,'' he steps closer and leans in close to her. ''I'd advise you to accept my offer of help.''

''No.'' She smiles sadly, grabbing his arm when he tries to move past her. ''When the time comes, you need to let me die. Do you understand? Protect them. Don't protect me. Deal?''

''I don't make deals with demons.''

An easy smirk flickers on her lips. ''Smart boy.''

''The ground under your feet is beginning to crack, Ruby,'' he warns her quietly. She heaves a sigh and focuses her gaze on the ground like she's looking for those cracks ready to make the ground crumble beneath her. ''Be careful. Nobody is who they say they are.''

She looks up sharply and isn't even a little surprised to discover he's gone. Super. The gift of paranoia. That is just the thing she needs for her life to be complete. Leaning against the doorframe, she lets herself slide to the ground, studying the ring in her hand with a frown. It catches the dim light when she holds it up. It's a silver ring too big for her finger with scuffs in the smooth surface and it shouldn't mean as much as it does. That seems to be the entire shape of their relationship, doesn't it? Things that mean more than they ever should. Things they shouldn't want, touches that shouldn't linger for as long as they do, looks that mean more than they ever should. That seems to be the foundation of whatever it is that she and Dean had. What they still have.

It's a shame, you know. That whatever lies between them will inevitably end up going to waste.

It isn't a fact she wants to think about. It isn't something she wants to be true, but it's something she cannot hide from any longer. To save the people she cares about, to rid the world of Crowley once and for all... She's going to have to die. That, she knows now, is just something she is going to have to accept and come to terms with. Everyone is afraid to die. Nobody wants to go into the cold ground. But there are sacrifices that have to be made to make the world go 'round and she is just one of them.

She drops the ring onto the ground, watches it spin around and rubs at the handprint shaped bruise on her wrist.

It's not as if she belongs in this world anyway.

.

.

.

''Let me get this straight. You ran away from home because you want to know what it's like to be a Winchester man? ...Do you see the holes in your plan, Ben?''

Ben sits stoically in a rickety old kitchen chair in Bobby Singer's kitchen and he can't quite manage to make himself look Sam in the eye. You know, when he hears his reasoning out loud it doesn't really hold up, now does it? ''It's not just - There's more - You wouldn't understand, okay?'' His shoulders slump and he trains his gaze away from Sam and Bobby's inquiring eyes. The sound of a chair scraping back against the floor has him sliding his eyes upwards briefly.

Sam clasps his hands and stares intently while Bobby sips at his beer. ''So then make me understand.''

The words curdle in his stomach and rise in his throat like stomach acid forcing its way out. He tip toes around the gentle way of wording his teenage angst problems for about a fraction of a second and then he gives up and decides to go for it. ''For the first eight years of my life...'' He pauses and squirms uncomfortably in his seat. ''I didn't have a father. I didn't even know who my father was. I didn't really think I needed one because I had Mom. I told myself that she was all I would ever need. But... I wondered. About who he was. If he knew about me, if he didn't want me and that's why he wasn't in my life. I wanted to know who he was. What he looked like. What his personality was like. If I was like him. If he thought about me like I thought about him. ...And then there was Dean. And he liked the same things I liked and he smiled the same way I smiled.'' A lump grows in his throat suddenly and he has to swallow. ''He was everything I wanted in a dad. So I convinced myself that he was. I mean, he _has_ to be. It's the only thing that makes sense anymore. There's no other explanation. I'm the son of Lisa Braeden and Dean Winchester. That's gotta be - That's gotta be who I am. And now Mom's finally admitted that he could be my dad. Ever since I was eight years old, all I've wanted to be is like my dad. Like _Dean._ But what if - What if they get the DNA test done and I'm not? I've spent _years_ modeling myself after him because I was so certain he was my dad and if he's not... Then who am I supposed to be? Who am I supposed to grow up to be?''

''You're supposed to grow up to be _Ben_ ,'' Sam says firmly. ''Look, kid, even Dean doesn't want to be Dean. Children aren't supposed to grow up to be their parents, Ben. They're supposed to - ''

''Everybody grows up to be their parents!'' Ben yelps. ''It's nature! Circle of life and all that.''

Sam _visibly_ flinches at that.

There is a long silence in the room after that. Sam is swallowing and Bobby is looking down at his beer and Ben is hastily clearing his throat and blinking away any traces of moisture in his eyes with a scowl. So there it is. He has never laid it out so carefully before. He always works so hard to be strong. ''I'm not a kid,'' he dryly informs people with a frown because that is just something they should _know._ But every once and awhile, something happens, something big, and he is reminded of the cold hard truth.

He is a twelve year old boy and as much as he denies it, he is still just a kid, and these things hurt.

It seems like a very long time passes before someone dares to speak, that someone being Bobby with his gruff voice and hidden meaning behind his words. ''Blood don't make a family, boy.'' It's a fairly simple sentence. One that, Ben will learn, defines the rules of family to a Winchester. ''There's a difference between being a father and being a dad,'' Bobby continues quietly. ''What's it matter if you've got Winchester blood in you? DNA don't make a dad.''

''It matters,'' Ben protests thickly.

''But why?'' Bobby challenges, putting his beer bottle on the counter. ''Why does it matter so much to you? Dean is going to be in your life whether he's your biological father or not.''

''But he is really?''

''Okay,'' Sam cuts in, sending both of them a warning look. ''Ben, Dean loves you. And that has nothing to do with genetics.''

''And I know that!'' Ben yelps defensively, leaping to his feet. ''I know that blood doesn't always matter and I know that family is something that we can choose, but I need Dean to be connected to me by blood because if he's not then he can leave!'' His outburst shocks everyone. Including himself. That paralyzing fear of abandonment that makes his chest ache late at night is something he hasn't admitted even to himself. ''Look,'' he sighs. ''He's gonna get back with Ruby eventually. Everyone knows it. They know it, we know it, Mom knows it, the entire population of China knows it. And who's to say he won't forget about me once he has her? He'll get her and they'll settle down with their happily ever after and have a bunch of kids and Mom and I - We'll just be his practice family. That's what could happen. And don't say I'm wrong because it _could_ happen. But if I'm his kid... Then he'll have to be my dad, right?''

''Do you really want him to be your dad just because he has to?'' Bobby asks quietly.

''I just want him to be my dad.''

Both men appear to hesitate momentarily, sharing a secretive look as though they're with holding privileged information from him. ''Ben,'' Sam begins, rubbing the back of his neck. ''I don't mean any offense to your mom or anything, and I know Dean cares about her a lot, but... _you_ were the reason he went back to you two. And I know you know that. He wanted a normal life and he wanted you to be a part of it. He wanted to toss around a football and have barbeques in the summer. He wanted to watch you grow up. He wanted to teach you how to drive and how to get a girl. He wanted to be a part of your life, kid. Whether you're his son or not, I'm certain he's prepared to be in it for the long haul. I don't think you have anything to worry about.''

Ben drops back into his chair and bites down hard on his bottom lip.

''But,'' Sam goes on. ''These are all things you need to hear from Dean, aren't they?''

Ben slumps farther down in his chair, gnawing on his lip. The memories of the summertime, water fights and softball games and that one awful camping trip, rise up and strangle him and he has to look away to regain control of his breathing.

It is something he has never and probably never will say out loud, but all he really wants is for Dean to tell him that he loves him.

.

.

.

Dean sits in his car for a long time, hands wrapped around the steering wheel, breathing uneven, before he can manage to wrangle the emotions rising in his chest back into their locked box. Right now, he is the picture of coiled anger, tightly wound and frustrated with bruised knuckles and blood in his mouth from biting his tongue to suppress a scream. He vividly remembers this feeling from before.

This is not the first time one of his kids has run away.

He remembers Flagstaff and Sam running away on his watch and Dad...Dad...

He flinches wildly and grimaces like he's in pain. His lips tighten and his eyes narrow. No. No way, absolutely not. He is so pissed off he can barely see straight but he will not react like Dad did back then. That was just...a bad time. For all of them. He takes in a few ragged breaths, closes his eyes and then steps out of the car.

Ben is waiting for him on the couch with wide, sheepish eyes and an embarrassed, apologetic half smile. Both he and Sam open their mouths, probably to spout off excuses, but Dean holds his hands up, silencing them before they even have a chance to speak. ''Okay,'' he starts calmly. ''A: The entire left side of my body went numb when we realized you were missing. I'm convinced it was a stroke. So thank you for that. It reminded me of my mortality.''

Ben blinks. ''You're welcome?''

''B: When we get home, you better be ready to freakin' grovel. More than grovel, you better _pray_. You better pray that your mother forgives you. It'll be a damn miracle if either of us ever trust you again. You don't get to pull shit like this, Ben. You don't get to put your mother and I through that ever again. Understood?''

Ben gives a short, quick nod, swallowing hard.

''And C: Get your crap and go wait in the car. We're goin' home.''

The kid all but jumps to his feet, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He at least looks fairly ashamed, so that's something. Already better than Sam, who, after returning home, had not been ashamed in the least. Ben hurries past Dean, throwing a small, grateful smile in Sam's direction and a wave in Bobby's. He mumbles out a genuine sounding apology as he shuffles past Dean, and Dean lets out a breath, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Children are tiring. He's going to wake up tomorrow and find a gray hair. He can _feel_ it.

''And don't hotwire it,'' he adds on as an afterthought.

''I'll do my best.''

'' _Ben_.''

'' _Okaaay_. Geez.''

There's a few prolonged seconds of silence after the sound of the front door slamming shut has rattled the old house. Dean spends those seconds staring at Sam with narrowed eyes. Sam stares right back. And poor Bobby is stuck watching both of them. Eventually, Bobby steps in between them with a frown and an arched eyebrow, breaking their eye contact. ''What's happening right now?''

''That,'' Dean breathes out, ''was _bracing_.''

Sam holds his hands up, moving around the couch to sink onto it, looking beat. ''Hey, don't give me that look, Dean. It's not my fault your kid ran away.''

''He's as much of a pain in the ass as you were when you were his age.''

''I suppose there must be something in the genes, hmm?''

''Shut up, we don't even know if he's mine.''

''Oh, he's definitely yours,'' Bobby chimes in with a wry grin. ''Definitely yours. Kid's practically got Winchester stamped on his forehead.''

''Great. Well, it's not like that's terrifying or anything.''

''He has your scowl,'' Sam says, smile breaking out on his lips.

There's a smile Dean can't stop from spreading across his lips. He disguises it as a grimace and crosses his arms. ''Sam, is he...?'' He trails off and sucks in a breath, looking over his shoulder.

Sam seems to understand the unsaid - nothing new there - waving a hand dismissively and giving Dean one of those comforting half smiles that have become so rare as of late. ''Ah, he'll be fine. I just think you two have some issues you need to work through.''

You notice how Dean has issues with just about everyone in his life right now? Well, fuck, it's his worst nightmare coming true. He's becoming his father.

.

.

.

In the passenger seat, Ben is silent and sullen, a true twelve year old's moodiness outshining the guilt in his overwhelmingly sad eyes. Dean's focus is on the road ahead of him and the accelerator that feels like home. Neither one of them have said a word since leaving Bobby's and both of them are discontentedly stewing in the guilt that is eating away at them. They are a lot alike, whether it's because of bloodlines or not.

When the chips inevitably fall and the deafening sound of driving down a dark highway in silence gets too loud and painful, Dean is the one to offer the do over they both need. ''I'm sorry, Ben.''

Ben turns away from the window to stare up at him in disbelief. '' _You're_ sorry? For what?''

''The fighting. We should have realized it was affecting you too.''

''Oh,'' Ben nods and studies his hands intently. ''Well, yeah. But that's okay.''

''It doesn't excuse what you did today,'' Dean feels the need to add quickly. ''But I'm still sorry. This wasn't something I wanted for you.'' That's the truth. He had wanted to give Ben everything he didn't have as a child. He had wanted to give Ben a good man to look up to. A role model. A _dad._ He glances at Ben out of the corner of his eye. ''I wanted to give you more,'' he says quietly. ''And I'm sorry that I can't.''

''It's over, isn't it?'' Ben looks up, a bittersweet looking smile on his lips. His voice is small and it wavers noticeably.

Dean feels a tightening in his chest that he can't ignore. ''What?''

''You and my mom,'' Ben swallows. ''It's over between you two, isn't it?''

Dean waits a long time before he answers, debating over what answer he should give. Eventually, he decides that Ben deserves the truth. ''...Yes. It is.''

Ben nods simply, looking mildly thoughtful as he stares out at the dark road. ''It's been over for awhile,'' he says. ''Even I could see that.''

Dean keeps driving and doesn't even bother to argue.

''So,'' Ben shifts in his seat, angling his body towards Dean with curiosity and barely stifled hurt glimmering in his eyes. ''Does this mean you and Ruby are going to get back together now?''

''It's complicated.''

''Nothing is ever as complicated as people say they are.''

''Ruby is.''

Ben rolls his eyes and falls back against the seat, looking out the window again. They're quiet for another moment, tense and thick like acrid smoke. ''You were happy for awhile, weren't you?''

Dean's eyes drift away from the road and towards Ben for a fraction of a second and he twists his lips into a soft smile. ''Yeah,'' he says. ''I was happy for awhile. Really happy.''

''That's good,'' Ben's voice cracks and he clears his throat.

Dean is suddenly struck by a wave of panic. ''Hey, Ben - ''

''I don't want you to leave,'' is the quite admission that rings through the confines of the car like a startling confession of guilt. ''That's why I ran. If it turns out I'm not your son, what will keep you here? What will keep you from leaving me for good?''

Dean's jaw tightens and his hands, wrapped too tightly around the steering wheel, begin to cramp up. He really, really doesn't like how much Ben is sounding like him right now. That hurts. One time, when he was ten, Dean came this close to running away just to see if his father would run after him. He had just wanted to know if his father cared enough to chase after him and say all of the things that he had never heard. The only reason he chickened out was because Sammy needed him. To this day, he still wonders if his father would have chased after him. He's betting the answer to that question is a resounding _nope._

It's like a light goes off. One minute he's staring straight ahead through a vision that's going blurry and the next, he's pulling the car off to the side of the road and climbing out into the freezing late January air. He can't be the perfect father who attends every school function and helps with every piece of homework and loves the domesticated life full of picnics and picket fences and green grass. He can't be that guy. There's always going to be a part of him that will wish he could be that guy, but he can't. It's not in him. He's not built that way. But he won't run either. He won't miss everything and he won't keep everything all bottled up inside like his own father did. He can't be a stepford househusband, but he refuses to be John Winchester.

''Uh...'' Ben scrambles out of the car, shoes crunching through snow and gravel. ''Whatcha doin'?''

''I want to show you something,'' Dean responds shortly, heaving open the trunk. He reaches past guns and ammo, digging around in the back until he reaches what he is searching for, slamming the trunk and tossing the bag on top. ''Do you remember those letters I sent you?''

''Yeah. Why?''

''These are the rest of them.''

Ben's eyes widen and he hesitates briefly before he peeks into the bag, pulling out a few envelopes. ''The - The rest of them,'' he whispers shakily. ''How many are in here?''

''I don't know,'' Dean shrugs nonchalantly and leans back against the Impala, stuffing his hands in his pockets. ''I wrote to you almost every day, kid.''

''Why?''

That is a very loaded question. One Dean isn't entirely sure he'll be able to answer properly. ''For a very long time, I didn't know what I wanted,'' he starts slowly. ''It wasn't until I met you that I realized what I wanted was a family. I wrote you those letters because I wanted you to be mine. And maybe... Maybe because I never really believed your mother when she told me you weren't. Now you tell me, would I have written you all of those letters if I was just going to run in the end?'' He pushes off the car. ''It doesn't matter what the DNA test says. You're stuck with me, dude.''

Ben looks up from the pile of letters with his misty eyes. After a second, he carefully places the letters back in the bag, looks at Dean and says very matter-of-factly, ''I'm going to hug you now.''

''I think I'd be okay with that.''

.

.

.

It has been a monumentally long day. Lisa has spent it fighting, yelling, screaming, crying and praying. By midnight, the start of a new day, she thinks it might be possible that she has finally reached the acceptance stage. Her son is her son again. He's been lost and he's been found, he has apologized to her profusely, accepted his punishment and now he's sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks. Perhaps she is biased, but... She got the good kid. The one who owns up to his mistakes and apologizes like most twelve year old boys don't.

So, all is well that ends well on that end of the spectrum. Now all that's left is...

...Well, what is the left to say, really? She can try and try and try some more but it's never going to be enough. She can't fix what she has with Dean. It's too broken. It was a nice song while it lasted. But all songs have to end.

He is in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of scotch when she comes downstairs. He looks tired and aged and guilty, but he still somehow looks better than he did when he showed up on her doorstep a year and a half ago. She takes a seat across from him, places her hands in her lap and just _looks_ at him. And she _tries._ She tries to fall in love with him all over again just by looking in his eyes or at the curve of his mouth or the way his fingers curl tight around the glass in his hands. She tries to see the man he tried to be for that one precious year but he's not there, and when he looks up and locks eyes with her, she suddenly can't remember if that man was real.

It's an incredibly bittersweet moment when you have to come to terms with the fact that you've fallen in love with a ghost. Not even a ghost, really. More like a shell. An idea. The blueprint of the man he could have been.

Dean sits down and offers her the glass with a weary, melancholy kind of smile. She takes it and takes a long, slow gulp of the bitter liquor that instantly has her choking. It's a feeling she has become used to these days.

''You never could drink scotch,'' he chuckles while she puts a hand over her chest.

She lets out a shaky laugh, giving him back the glass. ''It...'' Her voice is soft and hesitant, and she pauses because she's not sure she wants to know. She's almost reluctant to finish her sentence, staring at the table intently, dark waves falling in her eyes and shadowing them lightly. ''It wasn't all bad, was it?''

''Lisa,'' he says firmly. ''You were - _are_ \- a beautiful, strong woman who put me back together again piece by broken piece after I lost everything. You gave me a son, a life outside of hunting. A reason to _stay_. You're the only reason I'm still standing here. How could any of that be bad?''

She laughs and smiles a watery smile, leaning forwards to graze her fingers over the light stubble on his cheek. ''Yeah,'' she chokes out. ''We had a good thing going for awhile.''

''A real good thing,'' he echoes hoarsely.

He catches her hand when she moves to pull it away and she closes her eyes as a few tears escape. ''But what's best for Ben,'' she continues strongly. ''What's best for all of us is to let go now.'' He lets go of her hand and he's nodding when she opens her eyes. She swears she hears the small crack start in her heart. Some part of her had hoped he would fight for her like she knows he'd fight for Ruby. ''I'll get the DNA test done, just so we know. I want you to know that either way, I'm not going to keep him from you. He needs you. He needs a dad.''

''...Thank you.''

''Sure.''

''I'll... I'll move out as soon as possible,'' he says quickly. ''I can be out by tomorrow.''

''Take your time.'' She reaches across the table to steal the glass and the bottle of scotch. This time, she manages to swallow it down without coughing. It's an improvement. It still burns, but it's an improvement. It'll get better. She's not just talking about drinking scotch. ''Is it her?'' She asks after a lapse of silence. ''Is she your endgame?''

Dean can't look her in the eye, which is answer enough. ''I don't know.''

She can't help but laugh at that. If there's an undercurrent of bitterness, they both pretend it's not there. ''Oh, honey. Yes, you do.'' Even she knows. She's known it from the moment she first laid eyes on Ruby. Sparks used to explode between her and Dean, hot and electric and _there_. But there are wildfires burning between Dean and Ruby. She can't compete with those. All the women in the world can't put out those flames. There's a not so small part of her that really hates that. ''Did you love me?'' She blurts out without thinking.

Dean's eyes burn right through her and his lips twist into a small smirk. ''Oh yeah.''

''Did you ever love me like you love her?''

The silence that follows speaks louder than any words ever could. Lisa sighs with a fake smile and rises to her feet. ''Well,'' she glides over to him and bends over to press a kiss to the side of his mouth. ''It was nice while it lasted.'' Then she pours herself another glass of scotch, touches his lips one last time and then steps back. ''Good night, Dean.''

And she goes to bed.

.

.

.

_''We're shooting the scene where I swallow your heart and you make me_  
_spit it up again. I swallow your heart and it crawls_  
_right out of my mouth._  
_You swallow my heart and flee, but I want it back now, baby. I want it back.''_  
**\- dirty valentine**


	13. Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

_sweetheart, is that you?_

.

.

.

_''I'll call you darling, hold you tight. We are_  
_not traitors but the lights go out. It's dark._  
_Sweetheart, is that you?''_   
**\- saying your names**

.

.

.

March comes with a cold sun and a new beginning for all. Things are changing these days. Winter is melting away to make room for the flowers of spring and the clouds in the sky are slowly drifting away to let the blue underneath shine.

But, as you should all know, new beginnings come from endings and endings are not without their own problems.

.

.

.

Dean is all moved out of Lisa's, stuck somewhere between stability and instability, unable to decide whether he should find an apartment and stay in one place for Ben or go back to the nomadic motel to motel situation he had going for him for over twenty six years. After procrastinating and dancing around the subject out of fear and anxiety, going back and forth between yes and no for roughly a month, the DNA test has finally been done and all parties involved are waiting anxiously for the results.

Dean and Lisa are both moving on with their lives. She has moved on from the wallowing stage, and he is going forward. Which is a really hard thing to do considering he knows what he wants now, he knows what door to open and he knows who's standing behind it but she _still won't answer his calls_.

She has been completely AWOL lately, falling off the grid and hiding out somewhere where nobody - not even Sam - can reach her. The only confirmation either Winchester have that she's all right is a phone call from her never-before-seen uncle who stiffly informed them that, ''She's perfectly fine, gentlemen. She just no longer has time to stroke your fragile hunter boy egos, and she would appreciate it if you would quit clogging her voicemail. Seventeen messages is a bit much, don't you think? And that was just from one of you.'' (Yeah, that was Dean. He'll admit that.)

Insulting, right?

Dean gets the feeling the elusive Josef isn't all that fond of them.

Things keep slipping out of his grasp, falling and breaking at his feet, and the lights keep dying down and going out. Given the choice between a hurricane and a light summer rain, he chose the hurricane but now the freakin' hurricane won't reach him.

Yes, that... _weather_. It's some unpredictable shit, isn't it? Volatile too.

.

.

.

Ruby spends her time in the shadows these days, hiding black eyes and slit wrists from Dean and Sam and lying to Josef about them because for reasons she's trying her hardest to unearth, Crowley is getting worse, more and more brutal with every passing day.

He is her own personal vine that winds around her and holds her in place, carrying out torture after torture upon her. Something has spooked him. Something has spooked him dearly and, as per usual, she is the one paying for it. So what else is new?

It's happening now. She can feel it coming. He is pushing her closer and closer to her breaking point, he's got his minions keeping a close eye on her at all times, forcing her to cut off all ties with everyone she cares about to keep them safe, and she knows, she just _knows_ , that she is about to be cut loose. In other words: He's either going to kill her or send her back to hell. She's thinking it might be the latter.

It scares her that she is slowly starting to accept that she is going to die. It's not like she wants to die. But she will. She can hear the whispers in the wind, smell the putrid scent of hellfire in the breeze and feel the hot flames licking at her skin. She cares too much about others and too little about herself and that is what will ultimately drag her back down to The Pit.

Love is her curse. Her cage. She's gotten used to that. And it's going to cut her throat and watch her bleed out on the cold floor in the end.

.

.

.

Sam is getting worse.

The pills don't take it away anymore. His hands don't feel like his hands anymore. The voices sound like they're coming from underwater. He can't see Ruby. He can't feel Dean's hands when Dean reaches out to steady him. And he's running out of pills to swallow.

It can't get worse.

What else is there to say?

.

.

.

It will all crumble and fall. The ground underneath their feet. It will dissipate and give way to the hell they're all running from. The snapping teeth nipping at their heels are coming closer and closer and they're all boxed in. You cannot run from what is meant to pull you under. You cannot save yourself. You cannot win this game.

The stars are dropping, the sky is falling, the ground is shaking, and nobody knows it but them.

These are the blades they can't outrun. These are the monsters under their beds. This is the apocalypse that only rages inside of their twisted and broken psyches.

Personal demons will always be the deadliest creatures, and they will always be the thing to kill you in the end.

.

.

.

She twists angrily in the demon's grasp to no avail, spitting out curses that don't appear to affect him in the least. He digs his fingernails into her flesh and tightens his grip to the point where if he tightens his hand around her wrist any tighter, he will shatter the bone.

''You can't get away,'' he warns her plainly, and she thinks he is talking about more than just his grasp.

As soon as she is dragged out into the cool night air, she wrenches free of his hold on her and fixes him with a glare, crossing her arms over her chest. ''So what? I can only see him when he wants to beat me down and make crude remarks? That's bull. I want to see the bastard.''

The demon who is wearing Christian Campbell as a meat suit mirrors her stance and shrugs his shoulders. ''Don't care. He doesn't want to see you.''

She stomps her foot in the dirt, letting out a screech of frustration. ''I don't give a damn what he wants anymore! I need to talk to him.''

''No.''

''Tell him I'm sick of this.''

''Do you really think he cares if you're sick of this?'' He asks slowly.

She scoffs and kicks at the dirt. Son of a bitch won't even come out and face her like a man. Coward. ''Why won't he just kill me?''

''He doesn't want to _kill_ you,'' he tells her, frowning at her like this should be common knowledge to her. ''He'd never kill you. Don't you know that? Death would be too kind.'' He grins a sickening grin and leans towards her. ''You're cracking,'' he states calmly. ''I can see it in every inch of you.''

''Well, congratulations,'' she spits bitterly. ''You have eyes. Let's throw a fucking party.''

He takes a step toward her. She has to force herself to remain still, clenching her fists and digging her nails into the palm of her hand. ''Why do you let him see you break? That's a sign of weakness, you know.''

She presses her lips together and draws herself as far away from him as possible. ''Do you honestly care?''

He leers at her and begins to circle her, looking feral and animalistic in his actions. She can't even pretend she's not disgusted by the way he's looking at her. The man is a bug. That can't be helped. Barely even a bug, really. He's a speck of dirt. Yet he obviously still thinks he's better than her. ''It has been drilled into my head over and over again that you are a strong, feisty and unpredictable wildcat. But that's a lie, isn't it?'' His eyes twinkle with trouble and she has to slap his hand away when he reaches out to touch her. ''You're not strong at all anymore, are you? He's beaten the will right out of you.'' He shakes his head in mock disappointment and clicks his tongue. ''Pity.''

She tries to swallow but her mouth is too dry. ''Shit happens,'' she says noncommittally. ''And shouldn't you be off infiltrating the Campbell clan like a good little lackey?'' It's downright sad that she can't even bring herself to object to what he's saying about her. The truth hurts.

He ignores her, circling her again like he's the predator and she's playing the role of the prey. ''I don't know what he sees in you.''

''A hot blonde?'' She offers dryly.

''Don't flatter yourself,'' he snorts. ''Do you think that just because you're a traitor it makes you better than us?''

She laughs, long and hearty and bitter. ''Oh no, baby,'' she beams. ''That's not why I think I'm better than you. I'm not the first demon to choose humans and I won't be the last.'' Black slides over the blue of her eyes and she closes in on him, pressing her hand flat against his chest. She feels him suck in a breath and her smile widens as she leans in close, close, closer, blond hair tickling his chest. ''The only reason I'm better than you is because I'm not a low level flunky on the bottom of the food chain. I mean something.''

He hisses angrily and grabs her wrist much too tightly again. ''Watch what you say.''

''Why?'' Something builds up in her throat. She can't decide if it's a laugh or a sigh. She steps back, licking her lips. ''I may not be able to kill Crowley but I can sure as hell kill you.''

''I don't think Crowley would like that,'' he crosses his arms. ''And you know how he gets when he's unhappy. Go ahead.'' He holds his arms out and spins in a slow circle. ''Kill me.'' His lips twitch and there's a definite challenging sparkle in his eyes that makes her pulse speed up. She has the strangest feeling that he's trying to tell her to read between the lines. ''See what happens.''

And she hates it when people call her bluff, so she gives up on her mission to see Crowley and turns to walk away. Christian - or NotChristian, depending on how you look at it - grasps her elbow before she can escape, pulling her back to him. ''We're demons, Ruby,'' he whispers in her ear. ''We don't get reprieves.''

.

.

.

The Campbell Compound is not the place he wants to be right now. The Campbell Compound is not the place he wants to be _ever_. But Sam has dragged him here because, for reasons still unknown to him, his brother has formed some kind of attachment to Samuel despite the fact that the man is a world class douchebag.

Dean thinks it might have something to do with their mother. Sam never got to know Mary. The kid doesn't have any memories of her. Not organic, natural memories anyway. But Samuel has been known to tell stories about the strong and beautiful Mary Campbell before she was Mary Winchester. Stories that somehow manage to enthrall both Winchester men, even though they are both perfectly aware that the man is a dick.

It doesn't sound all that crazy when you think about it. Maybe Sam just wants to develop a relationship with his only remaining family. It sounds logical. It really does. But Dean cannot help but think there is something deeper going on here. Something that he really, really, really shouldn't like or approve of.

.

.

.

Dean slams the driver's side door shut and leans back against the car, eyeing Sam closely as the younger man makes his way around the car. ''Are you okay?''

Sam stops in his tracks and seems to hesitate a moment before he turns around, smiling thinly. ''Fine. Why?''

''You just look a little pale.''

Sam stares at him blankly and then shrugs and turns on his heel. ''Must be coming down with something,'' he says flippantly.

Dean sighs and watches Sam walk away from him, trying desperately to believe the lies that keep falling from his lips. He watches his brother disappear into the Campbell's _lair_ , but Dean remains outside in the March air, slumped against his car. He doesn't really feel like pretending he doesn't mind the company inside of that building. His so-called _family_ members (what a joke) are way too judgmental and pissy for his taste. Yes, he does realize that is sort of like the pot calling the kettle black but, you know, _whatever_. Civility isn't high on his list of priorities for the day. Check back later.

He tilts his head back to stare at the sky and lets his eyes drift shut. He is extremely tired of not getting what he wants. For once he just wants...he wants...

The sound of gravel crunching under graceful footfalls has him snapping to attention, lips parting in shock at the sight before him. And then he can't remember if he's awake or not.

She smiles weakly, a light breeze ruffling her hair as she stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets. ''Hi, Dean.''

He scrambles to stand straight, taking exactly one urgent step towards her before he stops suddenly, all too aware of her history of running. ''Hi, Ruby.'' He looks at her skeptically. ''Are you planning on sticking with tradition and running like a frightened deer as soon as I take a step?'' He asks bluntly. ''Because that's getting old.''

She shrugs her shoulders. ''Wasn't planning on it. Do you want me to run?''

''I never wanted you to run.''

Here is what she is. Here is the list of things she is: She's like a book. She's the book he's read cover to cover multiple times and yet he still can't get enough of it because every time he reads the book, he discovers new words that mean things he never could have dreamed of, and he remembers why the old words meant so much to him. The words all meld together and create myths and magic. She's like a best seller. Do you see? Do you see what she does to him? She's got him thinking about _books_.

She is his hurricane. She is the history he has very much missed.

The smile on her face curves into a smirk and she plucks something from her pocket, tossing it at him carelessly. It glints in the sunlight and it doesn't take him long to realize what he's trying to catch in the palm of his hand. ''That your calling card?'' She asks.

He smirks lazily and leans back against the car, running his fingers over the silver ring in his hand. ''If that's what you want to call it.''

''How'd you do it?''

''Do what?''

''Get it in my pocket. I haven't seen you since - ''

''Got Sam to do it.''

''Clever.''

He grins at her. ''Aren't I?''

She shocks him by being the one to move closer. He never thought he'd see the day. ''Why'd you do it?''

''To get you to talk to me.'' Does that sound familiar? It sounds familiar to him. He looks down at the ground. ''Didn't work.''

She frowns at him and drags herself forwards to put herself next to him, leaning back against his car. ''I'm here, aren't I?''

''Two months later,'' he points out.

''Still counts.''

Yes, hurricane. It still counts. ''I suppose it does.'' They fall into an oddly comfortable silence for a few minutes. He wants to reach out and touch her so badly, just to make sure she's real, but he doesn't. He's still terrified she'll run. He thinks he might be able to see the crackling heat between them. It's like a bonfire. ''I broke up with Lisa,'' he tells her.

She hums in contemplation and her lips twitch. ''That's a shame.''

He chuckles, low and deep in his throat before he flips the ring up into the air. She snatches it out of mid air before it can fall and shoots him a look. He really loves that look. ''You can keep it,'' he tells her. ''I'll bet it looks better on you anyway.'' When she shakes her head and looks away from him but not quite in time to hide her smile, he takes that as a good sign. He brushes his hand against hers and decides that means everything. ''Do you ever think about what would have happened,'' he pauses and tries to meet her eyes. ''If we had both stayed - If we had had a chance - ''

''All the time.''

''We woulda made it,'' he says with a confident nod.

''You can't know that,'' she argues reasonably.

''Then how come I do?''

''We don't make any sense, Dean,'' she warns. ''We never made any sense.''

When he feels her begin to pull away from him, he pushes off the car again and grasps her hands before she can dance away from him like she has the most annoying habit of doing. ''The good things never make any sense.'' She looks like she's growing uncomfortable, scared and coming undone right before his eyes because she feels it too. He knows she feels it too. It's impossible not to feel. ''Ruby - ''

''Dean, I don't think - ''

''I just need to say it out loud,'' he pleads. ''Just let me say it. Just this once.''

She doesn't bother to struggle, closing her eyes briefly before she takes a deep breath and nods. ''Okay,'' she says strongly. ''Go on then. Say it.''

He lets go of her hand and takes a step away from her. He is trusting her not to run away for this. This is a pivotal moment. He just needs her to hear it. ''You're it,'' he says. Finally. ''You're the end of the story.'' When he says this, all he gets in return is an overwhelmingly sad smile. He doesn't think that's a good sign. ''You're... I chose you,'' he continues softly. ''You asked me once - You asked me if we were in love and I didn't have an answer for you. The truth is, we... We weren't, Ruby. We weren't in love back then but we were so close, and if we had gotten that chance...'' He reaches out to clutch desperately at the hem of her shirt when she starts looking like she wants to run. ''Ruby,'' he says her name like it's a plea, and she reluctantly meets his eyes. ''I'm in love with you.''

She shudders lightly at his confession and that terrifies him but he can't stop now. He's gone too far with this chick flick moment. It's one he's gotta stay with until the end. ''I love you now, and I want you. I want you so badly. You're there when I close my eyes, Ruby. Don't say that doesn't mean a thing. I want... I want...'' What does he want? ''I want to come home to you at night and crawl into bed next to you with the lights off and listen to you breathing and know that I did the right thing. That I chose the right person. And I want to watch stupid, awful movies with you, all of those cheesy horror movie remakes that you love, and I want to listen to you sing in the shower and you...'' He has to pause to take a gulping breath. He notices that her eyes look watery. ''You can't tell me you don't want that too.''

She's afraid. He figures out that she's afraid, and it's all right to be a little scared, of course it's all right, but he needs to say these things to her. He's waited so long to tell her these things. He needs her to know that she's what he wants. She looks at him for a long time with her neverending eyes that are always making him trip over his own feet or fumble with his words. Then, after a moment of contemplation. she takes a step forwards and presses her lips to his gently.

It's a soft kiss and her fingers graze his cheek. He can't help but feel that the gentleness is somehow foreboding. She pulls away, smiling weakly and brushing her fingers over his lips. ''See, this is where we're different, Dean,'' she says sadly. ''Back then... I _was_ in love with you. It didn't take me long to fall for you actually.'' She laughs quietly. ''Definitely not as long as it should have. And you know I still...'' When she grimaces, he swallows down a sigh. ''You know how I feel. But...''

''No.'' He grabs her hands and pulls her to him. ''No buts.'' He places a hand on her cheek and tries to keep her with him. ''Just give me a chance, Ruby. Just one chance.''

''Dean.'' She pushes at his chest and hastily swats away his hands. ''Dean, I can't. Not right now. There's too much - I can't do this with you.'' She shakes her head and won't look him in the eye.

When she spins on her heel to run away, he grabs her arm. ''Please don't walk away,'' he rasps. He leans closer to whisper in her ear. ''Ruby, you're it. You're it for me. All I'm asking for is one chance. Please. Please don't walk away.''

She stops, taking in a few ragged breaths. He thinks she might actually turn around. He should've known better. Her gaze falls on the grip he has on her arm and her shoulders slump. ''I'm sorry,'' she whispers. And then she twists out of his grip and he can't catch her before she slips through his fingers.

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.

.

She nearly collapses once she gets inside the building. She falls against the nearest wall, clutching at her chest and gasping for breath. Oh, holy shit. She never knew such beautiful words could make her hurt so much. Her eyes sting painfully and her chest tightens.

That was it. That was everything she ever could have wanted him to say. No one has ever said anything like that to her. And, god, she wants it too. She wants him more than anything else in the world. She wants to wake up next to him and go to sleep beside him. She wants to kiss his lips and feel his heart beat because he's always been her Addie. As weird as that sounds. She's always known that. She'd give anything to build a life with him. It would be such a beautiful life.

But she can't.

Why couldn't they have just gotten it right the first time? Why did it have to take them so long to get it right?

_Ruby, you're it. You're it for me._

They missed it, you know. They missed their chance.

She turns back to the door, wishing she could go out there and take it all back. He picked her. He picked the weed and turned her into a flower. But, she has learned, there are some things that were never meant to be. Some stories don't have happy endings. Some love stories are destined to be star crossed. Truth is, flowers and weeds... They wilt. They die. They go back into the ground. Into the earth. Everything goes back into the earth in the end.

And that soldier on the way to the sun? Well, he will just have to write his own ending, won't he?

Ruby stands straight, sniffling and rubbing at her eyes. Okay. So this is something she's going to have to come to terms with. She is a demon. She is not meant to walk in this world. She doesn't get love and she belongs with the flames. All right. Fine. But let's make one thing clear.

If she's going out, she's taking Crowley (the _fucking bastard_ ) with her.

Once and for all.

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.

Honestly?

When Sam runs into Ruby in the hallway, he thinks he's hallucinating. It's not entirely impossible these days, what with the drug abuse and everything. Once he realizes she's real, however, his eyes widen, he grabs onto her arm and he decides he cannot let her go. ''Ruby? Jesus Christ,'' he pulls her in for a hug, sighing into her hair. ''Where the hell have you been? Are you okay? Ruby,'' he pulls away, keeping a firm grip on her arms in case she tries to make a break for it. ''What's going on with you? Whatever it is - ''

''Do you have any holy water on you?'' She asks bluntly, voice deadpan and emotionless.

Um, okay. That had not been the expected reaction.

He blinks and takes a step away from her.

She seems to realize the coldness of her greeting, sighing and reaching out to squeeze his arm gently. ''I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just - I've been busy. Everything's fine.'' She smiles like she's trying to comfort him. It does a horrible job of covering up the relentless sadness in her eyes. ''I'm fine. But I really need your holy water. It's important.''

Still trying to decode the look in her eyes, Sam absently hands her his flask of water. He knows Ruby pretty well. Probably to a degree that would make her uncomfortable. He doesn't know her like Dean does, nor does he pretend to, but Sam's betting he knows at least enough to win at a game of Ruby Trivial Pursuit. Therefore he knows the look she gets when she is about to do something game changing. It's the look he knows best. It's the look she had on her face when she first waltzed into his life with her scary looking knife and her _'I'm the girl that just saved your ass.'_

She changed every game there ever was just by _being_. She rewrote every rule book the Winchester brothers ever had with her smile. She ripped apart the stitches with her teeth, took up residence between the infamous brothers, crawled into their hearts and wouldn't leave. She's a thunderstorm, that girl. So he thinks it's safe to say that right now she's either going to do something profound that changes everything... Or something incredibly stupid and reckless. It could potentially go either way.

Ruby takes the flask with a grin, pats his cheek with a ''thanks, Sammy'' and then brushes past him with her heels clicking determinedly on the ground.

He remains frozen where he stands for about two seconds, and then he turns on his heel and chases after her.

There are many things he is expecting her to do. There's a whole list of possibilities. This was never one of them. Ruby's never been one for small talk or exposition. So it's not really surprising that she gets right down to business. She marches right into the room the Campbell's are congregating in, walks right up to Christian, and taps him on the shoulder. Odd, but not mind blowing. That part comes next.

Christian turns around, his lips curve into a smirk at the sight of her, and then she clocks him. Actually, that's not really all that shocking either. The shock factor (other than the fact that Gwen isn't her primary target considering their history) comes when Ruby uncaps the holy water and splashes him with it. He sizzles and burns like a steak left out on the grill for too long and howls in pain, hands coming up to cover his face.

The following fight is actually remarkably short. Christian does try to defend himself, but it's weak and from where Sam's standing, it doesn't look like he's putting up much of a fight at all. Somewhere in between the holy water and Ruby throwing Christian up against the wall, Dean skids to a halt next to Sam, eyes widening. He tries to move forward but Sam grasps the back of his jacket and pulls him back. He may be a drug addict but he can easily see this isn't their fight.

''Haven't you ever heard the phrase don't kill the messenger, baby?'' Demon Christian cackles madly.

Ruby smiles wryly. ''As clichéd as this is going to sound, _baby_ , you _are_ the message.'' And then she drives her knife right into his neck.

Sam thinks Gwen's screaming way too loudly. There isn't that much blood, is there? Ruby's staring down at the body with a small, triumphant smile dancing on her lips. It reminds him of the look on Dean's face when he killed that shtriga all those years ago. She looks up, right at Dean. Unsurprising. When he doesn't offer her the words she's looking for, she turns and walks away.

Dean wastes no time standing around, pushing off the doorframe and chasing after her, leaving Sam staring at the bloody corpse on the ground.

''Well,'' Samuel speaks over Gwen's hysterical, stunned sounding sobs. He steps away from her and shakes his head in disappointment, putting his hands on his hips. ''Looks like we've got a body to burn. Pity. Kid was a good hunter.''

.

.

.

She's playing a dangerous game of _catch me if you can._ She's smart enough to know that. Hell, that's what she's counting on. Killing Christian was her way of creating her very own neon flashing sign that reads in brightly lit letters, _Come and get me, motherfucker_.

It's only a matter of time now. She throws herself as far away from Dean and Sam as she can because this isn't their concern and she ducks Josef for his own safety. But the one person she can't seem to escape is, oddly enough, Castiel. The guy seems to be around every corner these days, telling her to heed his warnings and tread lightly when it comes to Crowley.

''It will take a lot to kill him,'' he advises one day, reluctantly sitting down beside her when she motions for him to do so.

She sends him a cheeky grin in response. ''I'm giving it all I've got. Is that enough?''

Castiel appears to think deeply about that before nodding. ''I suppose it is.'' He frowns and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ''You know if you give him everything you've got, you'll have nothing left. You know that, right?''

She crosses one leg over the other and twirls the ring that is much too big for her finger. ''I know.''

He studies her for a moment, and then lets it go, nodding and sitting back in his seat. ''In times like this,'' he says finally, ''Dean usually drinks liberal amounts of alcohol.''

She snickers, putting her feet up on the coffee table and throwing a hand over her face. ''Dean needs a new hobby. Preferably one that won't lead to liver failure.''

''Do you have a hobby?'' He asks, inclining his head towards her.

''Yes, Castiel,'' she says sarcastically. ''I collect stamps.''

''You do? Really?'' He wrinkles his nose at her. ''That seems wildly out of character for you.''

She sighs. ''No, honey, I don't collect stamps.'' She reaches over to pat his knee. ''That was sarcasm. I'll teach you sometime.''

''Oh.'' He nods. ''Dean tells me you have a talent for drawing.''

''Okay,'' she throws her hands up in the air and shoots him a look. ''What are you doing right now? Are you trying to make small talk? Why? Do you, like, wanna be best friends now? Do you want to be my super special sidekick or something?''

''No,'' he says patiently. ''You just seem lonely.''

She doesn't have a response to that.

''I think,'' he says thoughtfully, sinking farther into his seat. ''I would prefer it if you were the sidekick.'' His lips quirk for half a second and he _almost_ offers her a smile.

She's not sure if what's crawling up in her throat is a laugh or a sigh. You know, she's never really understood how she manages to get all these men to fall in love with her. She still doesn't get it. Is it just because she looks like some fragile pretty little blonde thing on the outside? Is that it? Is it because the Winchester men and everyone connected to them have hero complexes as big as their hearts? Really. What is it? What do people continue to see in her?

What makes her worth saving?

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.

.

One night, two days after killing Christian, her waiting game is abruptly ended. She comes home late at night, entering her apartment with a tired sigh as she drops her keys onto the table by the door and shuts the door quietly. As soon as the door is shut, someone comes up behind her. She never has the chance to fight back because she is attacked from the behind and before she can spew out a curse, something sharp pricks her neck and then she feels like she has been thrown into a vat of scalding hot lava.

Holy fucking shit. Has that jackass actually ordered someone to break into her home and inject her with holy water? 'Cause that's just _mean_ and so below his standards. Actually, it doesn't really sound like Crowley's style at all. If he was going to torture her, he'd want to be there to watch her writhe in agony. Without that, what's the point? His favourite pastime is watching her bleed all over the floor and then making her clean it up. He wouldn't lower himself to this.

The feeling of being injected with holy water isn't exactly something that can be summed up with an ''ow.'' It's wholly indescribable. It's as if her organs are liquefying and melting into molten lava. It's like her blood is way past the point of boiling. She has been injected with holy water before. This isn't her first time. It pretty much goes like this: You lose all feeling other than the intense burning until you can barely lift your head up, you spend awhile throwing up your own blood to get the holy water out of your system, and then for days after, the injection spot itches like there's something crawling underneath and you can scratch and scratch but you will _never_ be able to get that faint whisper of holy water out.

Oh, what big fun she'll be having with this unidentified attacker.

She barely even manages to stay standing for a minute before the burning spreads throughout her entire body and she keels over, dropping to her hands and knees while she coughs and the blood rises in her throat. This is not Crowley. This is someone else. Well, what the fuck? Who else has she managed to piss off? Despite the burning, she tries to turn and lunge but a foot collides with her abdomen and she goes back to the ground instead. Rude.

Lying flat on her back, the blood in her throat starts to suffocate her. Awesome, she's going to drown in her own blood. Her eyes travel upwards, and she gets the first look at her attacker. It's a familiar face, and perhaps one that shouldn't surprise her all that much. He's a smarmy jackass, looking down at her with a smirk that tells her he thinks he's brilliant. Smug moron thinks he knows everything there is to know, doesn't he? She rolls onto her side to spit out some of the blood, managing a shaky smirk even through the blood and pain. ''You,'' she rasps out against gags and desperate attempts to get air. ''I should've known it was you.''

''Yes,'' he crouches down to her level, grasping her arms when she tries to claw at his face. ''You should have. If it's any consolation, I'm not getting any pleasure out of this.'' A grim smile stretches over his lips and he lifts one arm in a shrug. ''Well,'' he brushes hair out of her eyes and stands, staring down at her with a devilish smile. ''That's a lie.''

The only thought that crosses her mind before everything goes dark is that she really should have killed him when she had the chance.

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.

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_''Hush, my sweet. These tornadoes are for you.''  
_ **\- a primer for the small weird loves**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: I will be going on summer vacation in the beginning of July and I will be gone for one month, so that long space between updates that will be happening is not because I've abandoned this story, it will just be because I'm on vacation with limited internet access.


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait!

**Chapter Fourteen**

_a fever i am learning to live with_

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_''What did you really want?_  
_Someone to pass this with me._  
_You wanted more._  
_I want what everyone wants._  
_He raises the moon on a crane for effects, cue the violins._  
_That's what the violins are for.''_   
**-unfinished duet**

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Dean thinks most people know this about him by now, but he's not exactly a sound sleeper. He has chronic nightmare issues. He's pretty much had these chronic nightmare issues since he was four years old, but they got worse after Hell and then after Sam took the swan dive. The first few weeks he spent at Lisa's after the war, she told him numerous times that maybe what he was suffering from was PTSD and maybe he should seek some professional help. Help that she couldn't give him. He didn't listen. He doesn't think a ''professional'' can help him anyway, unless they want to get him all doped up on anti-depressants, which he does not want.

Honestly, he'd give anything to be able to have the normal naked-in-front-of-a-crowd kind of nightmare. He wants to dream in technicolor or cartoon. Something light and fun, that would be a nice change of pace. Anything but the odd washed out texture he dreams in now. He wants to dream of beer and giant sandwiches and Ruby or something to that effect. Man, what he wouldn't give to dream about Ruby in a positive light. He does not want to dream of Sam falling and falling and falling forever, or Ruby on the ceiling, or Alastair, who is still lurking in his subconscious even after all this time has passed.

In the past thirty three years, however, he has learned, in the cruelest ways possible, that we do not always (or ever, depending on how you look at it) get what we want. He's dreaming in black and white, images dancing behind his eyes, blurred and grainy like an old photograph distorted by age or an ancient television set that only plays in black and white. It's Sam and Stull Cemetery tonight. There's Sam and Adam and Michael and Lucifer and Dean being beaten by Sam's fists until he forgets that he is Dean but remembers that he needs Sam if he wants to breathe. Right before Sam falls, Dean's cell phone rings in his pocket.

Everybody turns to look at him. ''Dude,'' Sam's voice sighs out impatiently. ''You couldn't have turned off your phone for the _apocalypse?_ ''

And Dean wakes up.

He wakes up with a gasp as usual, groaning and running a hand down his tired and weary face. It's morning now. The early morning light pours in through the window. A siren blares somewhere in the distance and his cell phone is ringing incessantly on the night stand. Groggy and annoyed, he snatches up his phone and answers with a rough mumble of, ''What?'' Still half asleep, he barely registers what Sam is saying on the other line until her name is mentioned. ''What about her?'' He asks, rubbing at his eyes. ''Is she okay?'' He pales drastically at Sam's next words. ''I'm on my way,'' he says stiffly.

Words like _blood_ and _missing_ shouldn't be in the same sentence as _Ruby._

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There are two men standing just inside the door of Ruby's crapshithole apartment that he doesn't like her living in alone. (This is not necessarily a worry that makes sense, considering it's Ruby and she can handle anything, but it's one that nags at him nonetheless.) One of them is Sam. The other is... Hmm. Dean's guessing this would be his chance to meet the mysterious Josef. Huh. He was expecting more David Boreanaz as Angel. Some caped crusader dude built like a brick maybe. Josef mostly looks like a regular dude. Tall, muscular, piercing eyes, but all in all _normal_ looking in his t-shirt, jeans and black jacket. There's nothing really remarkable about him at all. On a better day, Dean would ponder this further and scrutinize Josef thoroughly. But this isn't a better day. This is a cold day in March and Ruby's gone, leaving behind evidence of some sort of struggle. Dean's too busy trying not to panic to study Mr. Casablancas.

Josef, on the other hand, grins like a feral cat when he sees Dean Winchester walking towards him. He's got his arms crossed and he's leaning against the wall with all knowing, all searching eyes. It's very Ruby-like. Must be something in the genes. ''So you're Dean,'' Josef drawls, looking Dean up and down. He tilts his head to the side. ''You're a fairly simple looking man. Not exactly what I was expecting.''

''Yeah?'' Dean mutters shortly. ''What were you expecting?''

Josef shrugs, lips turning upwards into a brief, two second smirk. ''Fabio? She makes it seem like you're the epitome of male perfection.''

''You're not exactly what I was picturing either,'' Dean deadpans. ''From what she's said about you, I was kinda expecting Superman. Got all excited for nothing, I guess.''

That comment seems to roll right off of Josef as he pushes off the wall and rolls his eyes. ''Her door wasn't locked,'' he informs both brothers plainly. ''I tell her to always make sure her door is locked.''

''Right,'' Dean snorts. '' 'Cause a locked door will stop a determined demon every time.''

Josef sighs softly and shakes his head, something akin to deep, _deep_ irritation in his eyes. ''In this neighborhood, a demon isn't always the biggest safety concern, wise ass.''

Sam's lips twitch and he drops his gaze to the ground to hide it.

Dean thinks it's extremely unfair that fathers, uncles, brothers and male friends never like him. It's not his fault they all look at him and see some worthless thug. They should all learn to be less judgmental. ''Okay,'' he says evenly, focusing his attention on the matter at hand. ''So we've got no Ruby, an unlocked door, and blood on the floor. That's bad. Let's bring her back.''

''Wow,'' Josef says. ''You're great with words, you know. Has anyone ever told you that?''

''Do you have a problem with me?''

''Caught onto that, did you?''

''Is this really how we're going to spend our time?'' Sam asks, looking back and forth between them. ''Ruby is _missing_ , there's blood on the floor, we all know she's clearly in some sort of trouble, and you two are going to spend what little time we have to find her bickering? You know what? These days, it's really sad when _I'm_ the logical one here. I'm - '' He stops suddenly, clearing his throat and ducking his head.

Dean feels an uncomfortable pinching in his chest. ''You're what?''

''Nothing.''

A sudden nasty hiss of pain alerts them both back to Josef's presence. There's a light sizzling noise and the blood on his fingers smokes and burns his flesh. He throws himself away from the small pool of blood on the floor, nearly hitting the wall in the process. When he looks back at them, there's another Ruby-like expression on his face and his eyes are black. ''Holy water,'' he grinds out through his teeth, which are gritted in pain. ''There's holy water in her blood.''

'' _In_ her blood?'' Sam echoes. ''What, you mean like - ''

''Like she was injected,'' Dean interjects. He can't look either of them in the eye when they turn to him. Dean remembers things about holy water injections and what they do to you. It's like pure fire flowing through your veins. Holy water, among other things, weakens a demon when injected directly into their veins. Not for long, but definitely long enough to kill said demon if that's your goal. It's not something he likes to advertise, but he knows certain things about torture that he would rather not know. To be specific, he knows things about demonic torture that nobody ever needs to know. He knows these things, of course, from his time spent under the pavement. From things he has done and things that have been done to him. (Fuck it; he _was_ a demon when he was in Hell. He had the black eyes and the holy water hurt. He can't deny that.)

If Ruby is out there somewhere with holy water in her system then she better be putting on a damn good show either long enough for the holy water to leave her system or for them to find her. More importantly, she better not be letting that mouth of hers get her into even more trouble.

''Change of plans,'' he says. ''We're not running out of time. We're already out of it.''

There's a moment of silence and then Josef smirks. ''Dramatic, aren't we?''

Dean throws him a look. ''You're just determined not to like me, aren't you?''

''It's not hard.''

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.

Her skin is humming and vibrating. She's shaking, and she can't feel her fingers. There is still blood in her mouth. And she's _hot._ She's really hot. She feels like she's been hurled into a pit of red hot lava. She definitely running a fever, she can feel it. She's burning up. She'd very much like it to stop. Actually, she'd really just like to be able to let out the moans and whimpers of pain she's keeping in. She's not sure why, but she feels like it would help to just be able to let it out. She keeps her lips shut and presses them together tightly instead. She may be in the middle of a Devil's Trap, drugged with holy water like a sitting duck but she will not give this idiot the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

''So,'' she says quietly, perched on her knees in the circles. Her throat stings painfully when she speaks. ''This is your plan? This is the level the, uh, great Samuel Campbell has stooped to?'' She clicks her tongue in disappointment. She breaks off in a hacking cough, hastily wiping away the blood that leaks from the corner of her mouth. ''Tell me,'' she licks her lips, which still taste of blood. ''Is this whole thing because you're working for Crowley? Or is it just because you don't like me?''

Sitting calmly in a wooden chair, Samuel doesn't even bother to look up from cleaning his gun. The level of respect he has for her seems to be just as low as always. It's nice to know some things are consistent. ''How'd you figure out I'm working with Crowley?'' He asks, examining a bullet with something that looks a lot like giddiness engraved in his features.

''You actually believe you're working _with_ Crowley?'' She shakes her head and suppresses a laugh. ''Crowley doesn't work _with_ people, hunterboy. People work _for_ Crowley. Whether they want to or not.'' When he rolls his eyes, she shrugs and looks around the room to avoid watching him prepare his torture tools. ''Wasn't that hard to figure out. Once I found out Christian was a demon I wondered how you didn't notice. Dean and Sam barely knew the guy and they didn't much care for him so they bought that he was just a dick. Gwen is under your orders. If you don't notice anything strange, she doesn't either. _You_ should've known. And you did know. You knew from the beginning. When I killed Christian right in front of you and you barely raised an eyebrow, that confirmed it. You're not very bright, Samuel. And you're not very brave. You're a foolish old man. But,'' she struggles to her feet, letting a smirk fall across her lips. The burning in her throat is getting weaker and weaker with every second. Soon it will be mild warmth and, weakened or not, she is going to snap Samuel Campbell's meaty neck as soon as he steps close enough. She doesn't have time for this shit. ''Even you would need a reason to work for a monster,'' she finishes. ''So humor me. What's in it for you? What do you benefit from this?''

He looks up at her, lips in a tight line, eyes darkened. ''That's none of your business.'' A perfectly pleasant smile crosses his face as he releases the safety on his gun and points it right between her eyes. She swallows down an impatient sigh. Isn't he supposed to be intelligent? ''Bullets are coated with holy water, sweetheart,'' he tells her, voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever. ''Don't act like you're not afraid.''

Oh, fear is not the only thing she's feeling right now. Her lips twist into a scowl and she lunges forwards, bouncing off the invisible walls of the trap. '' _Never_ call me sweetheart,'' she snarls. ''You don't get to call me that.''

Expressionless and without a moment of hesitation, he aims the gun at her arm and fires off a shot. The bullet barely grazes her arm, leaving a wound that will heal quickly and leave behind nothing but a mere bruise but it's enough for her to feel the holy water coating the bullet. A groan of pain bubbles up in her throat and covers it up with a gasp, hand moving to clutch at her arm. She can feel her legs weaken in shock and pain, but she stubbornly remains standing, head held high. The sadistic bastard is grinning at her when she turns back to him and his eyes are positively leaping with mirth. ''Oh, go ahead,'' she says, trying to catch her breath. ''Torture me. Do whatever the hell you want. You know Crowley would never let you kill me. And what he'll do to you if you do kill me... It's worth it.''

''Ruby,'' he says seriously, grin slipping. ''I'm not doing this because Crowley ordered me too. He doesn't even know I have you.''

The myriad of emotions that race through her ends with a huff of laughter tumbling free. ''Oh, Samuel,'' she shakes her head in disappointment. ''You're about as smart as you look, aren't you? Okay then.'' She spreads her arms out and twirls in a slow circle. She was right about Samuel Campbell. He is merely an unimportant weapon that will be hastily discarded sooner rather than later. The worst part of the matter - the part that's almost a little sad - is that the moron doesn't even seem to be aware of how easily replaceable he is. By the looks of him, Samuel here thinks he means something.

How cute.

''Dude,'' she deadpans. ''You need to learn the chain of command around here.''

''This isn't a game, little girl.''

''Little girl?'' She scoffs. ''I got a lot of years on you, honey.''

He points the gun at her chest in what appears to be an attempt to intimidate her.

''You go right ahead and kill me, Mr. Campbell,'' she breathes out softly, teasing her lips into a pout. ''Better yet, send me back downstairs. I'm sure I'll see you there. Haven't you learned anything? You piss off Crowley by going against him and he will rip your guts out and feed them to you. That's just what Crowley does. He'll send you love letters. Bleeding hearts on your pillows, spleens delivered with a dozen roses or a box of chocolates. And then, when you're so terrified you're literally sick with fear and you can't eat or sleep, he'll sneak into your home in the middle of the night, plunge his fist into your body and show you your insides because he considers his kills’ art. ...Scared yet?''

''You think I don't know all of that?'' He spits out bitterly, narrowing his eyes. ''He's a monster, Ruby. Just like you are.''

''I am nothing like Crowley,'' she protests loudly. ''Don't talk about me like you know me, Samuel. You don't know anything about me.'' And yet he apparently knows just how to strike a nerve with her. Do you think she hasn't worried about becoming Crowley? Please. One of her greatest fears is slipping and turning into just another bloodthirsty, savage monster like all the others. She's petrified of letting her humanity slip away from her. Well, that and being buried alive. She is _really_ scared of being buried alive for some reason. Probably because when Crowley first brought her back, he made her dig herself out of her own grave. It was scarring. ''What did he promise you?'' She asks bravely, keeping her head held high as she locks eyes with him. ''Hmm? Who's he holding over your head as leverage?'' When he squirms uncomfortably and refuses to look her in the eye, she smirks and moves forwards, edging around the lines of the Devil's Trap. ''That's it, isn't it? He made you a promise he won't keep, didn't he? He told you he'd bring someone back. I'm getting warmer. ...Aren't I?''

Samuel's lips twist angrily and he sputters unsuccessfully for a moment before shaking his head and letting out a scoff. ''You don't know,'' he spits out passionately. ''You have no idea what it's like to lose a child.''

Ah. So it all comes down to Mary, does it?

''The hell I don't,'' she growls out. ''I watched both my kids die, you asshole.'' Her eyes flash and her hands clench and unclench into fists.

He turns away from her with a heavy sigh. ''Then maybe you can understand why I'm doing this. Why I _have_ to do this.''

Her first gut instinct is to look around the room for potential escape routes even though whatever route she does find will do her no good given she's still stuck. There's a window behind her and there's the door Samuel is standing in front of. She can take him. She knows she can. She just has to get out of this damn Devil's Trap.

''He won't bring her back, you know,'' she tells him quietly. ''He's not a noble man of his word. Sure, okay, he was king of the crossroads but in case you hadn't noticed, the guy has sort of gone loony. He's off his rocker. Totally and completely bonkers. Not exactly a trustworthy fellow.'' Appealing to the logic she knows has to be somewhere in his brain may seem like a move made purely out of desperation, and to be honest, it kind of is, but what other choice does she have? She's just hoping that at least some of his brain cells are still doing their job. ''Look, what happened to Mary was tragic. It really, really was. It started off a whole big chain of monumentally fucked up events and she didn't deserve to die like that. But she did. Death happens, Samuel. It's a part of life. I'm sure she would've loved to have seen her boys grow up. I'm positive they would've loved her more than anything else in the world, and they would have been better off. But what's done is done. You can't fix what happened just by bringing her back.''

''I don't want to fix anything,'' Samuel spits out hotly. ''I'm not trying to be a hero. I'm not trying to mean something. I just want my daughter back. You want to know the truth? The truth is, I don't care about those boys like I probably should. I don't even know them. All I want...'' He shakes his head sadly. ''She's all I want.'' He says it with such conviction and such honestly that an actual spark of respect starts in her chest. She knows what it's like to want someone back so much you'd be willing to do unspeakable things just to bring them home. She doesn't, however, know what it's like to have a father who would go to the ends of the earth for her. Her father was a fine man and all, but he was a tad weak and she honestly doesn't remember all that much about him. She thinks that should bother her more than it does, but whatever. She saves her memories for her kids.

There is a heart somewhere inside Samuel. She can sense that much. It just doesn't beat for anyone but Mary. That, you need to know, is quite a hefty flaw. ''What do you think Mary would say if she were here right now, Samuel? What would she think of you now?''

''She can hate me as much as she wants,'' he shrugs, turning away from her. ''At least she'll be alive.''

Ruby swallows hard and looks down at the dirty ground.

She is beginning to feel like she is in real deep shit here.

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.

.

Sam is getting a headache. Again. Tension headaches are a regular occurrence in his life, but they're grating. Ruby's missing, Dean and Josef are bickering continuously, and Sam clearly needs to up his dosage. He's going to have to talk to Samuel about getting some stronger meds. Or at least more of them. He is seriously going to need to be high to deal with Dean and Josef, as vulgar as that sounds.

Currently, Josef is trying to get some information out of Ruby's next door neighbor and Dean is bitching. Sam would say something, but not only is Dean bitching but he's also cracking his knuckles over and over and over again, which is something he only does in times of great stress so Sam figures letting him vent is better than Dean shutting down because he's terrified of losing Ruby. Yeah. Surprisingly lucid thought for a junkie, huh?

''It's just that the guy is like the male version of Ruby and that alone is really freaking me out,'' Dean's saying, rolling his knuckles into the palm of his hand.

''Why?'' Sam can't help but ask. ''Because you're wildly attracted to her and now you're finding yourself oddly attracted to him?''

Dean stops cracking his knuckles long enough to send Sam a look. He does not appear to be overly impressed with that comment. Oh, yeah and Dean's so perfect when it comes to saying things at the wrong time. ''Um, no.''

''I don't think he's that bad,'' Sam offers unhelpfully.

Dean scowls. ''I don't understand what he's got against me. What did I ever do to him?''

''...Fucked his niece?''

''How does that directly affect him? She's a grown ass woman, Sam. She doesn't need Daddy Ninja over there hating on her fuck buddies.''

Sam shrugs. ''I don't think you need to remind me to wear layers in the winter but you do it anyway. That's what family does. Have you forgotten that?''

Dean silences and presses his lips together, folding his arms over his chest.

Sam smirks triumphantly. Their moment of silence goes on for what feels like a long time. Dean is leaning back against the car, eyes on the building across the street, and his body is tense. His face is pinched with stress and it brings out the tiredness that has taken up a seemingly permanent residence on Dean's face. Sam studies his brother closely, easily picking up on things nobody else ever could. Dean's gaze drops to the ground and he scuffs his boot against the pavement. That's avoidance. Dean sucks in a breath that gets caught in the back of his throat, his lips parted as he shakes his head like he's mentally berating himself for somehow allowing Ruby to disappear. That's guilt. Dean looks up briefly, and then away. His fingers brush over his right ring finger. The same finger he used to wear that silver ring of his on. He licks his lips. That's something meant only for Ruby.

Sam knows all of Dean's body language secrets therefore he knows that Dean has picked up quite a few that only seem to happen when it has something to do with Ruby. He licks his lips more around Ruby for starters. His fingers twitch whenever he's around her like he wants to touch her, he angles his body toward hers, he peers at her through his eyelashes with about a thousand emotions in his eyes, and he always looks at her when she's not looking. It's not hard to notice these changes if you're looking for them. Dean isn't exactly subtle when it comes to Ruby. Not anymore. That's how far gone he is.

Sam knows Dean's body language to a tee. But he'll never be able to speak the language like Ruby can.

When Dean pushes off the car suddenly, Sam snaps back to attention, turning to face Josef, who's walking across the street with that familiar look of determined indifference on his face. Josef really is like a male version of Ruby, isn't he?

''Okay,'' Josef starts, cutting off Dean before he can open his mouth to speak. ''So I talked to the young couple who live next door to Ruby. Now, admittedly, my Portuguese is a little rusty - ''

''You speak Portuguese?'' Dean butts in.

''My wife had a knack for languages,'' Josef says, voice sharper than usual. ''Can I speak now?''

Sam bites his lip and absently grips Dean's jacket to keep him from lunging.

''Thank you,'' Josef says stiffly. '' _Anyway_. From what I understood, they heard a crash around two am. Nothing after that. Nice couple,'' he nods. ''Offered to make me a five course lunch. They love Ruby. They say she's always been very good to them but she always looks so sad. And their kids adore her.''

''Really?'' Sam's lips turn up into a thin and slightly weak looking smirk. ''Are we talking about the same Ruby here?''

''Ruby's great with kids,'' Josef snaps defensively. ''Besides,'' he mutters under his breath, ''she's a sweetheart. She's just a little prickly on the outside. Shouldn't you know these things?''

''Whatever you say. I just think - ''

''That it's unfair that she lets her guard down around total strangers and not around you two?''

Sam doesn't know what to say to that. ''I'm not sure I like you.''

Dean snorts. ''Welcome to the club.''

''Oh, well, excuse me while I go lick my fragile wounds and cry in the corner. I'll cancel the friendship bracelets.''

''Do you think you can tone down the attitude?'' Dean snarls.

''Right, because I'm the problem here.''

''Hey,'' Sam cuts into their pointless bickering by stepping in between them pushing at Dean's chest and looking over his shoulder at Josef. ''Felix, Oscar, is this really how it's gonna be?'' When both Dean and Josef simultaneously clench their jaws and look away from each other, Sam sighs and shakes his head. ''Fine. Be like th - '' He stops abruptly, cocking his head to the side when his eyes fall on the building next door. Curiously, he pushes away from Dean and Josef and moves closer to the building. It's a fairly nondescript building and the sign is too small to see from far away, but when he gets closer, he can read the sprawled cursive of the small, faded sign. Bingo. ''There's a pawn shop next door,'' he deadpans, blinking rapidly.

''So?'' Dean arches an eyebrow. ''You got a sudden jonesing for some cheap, tacky ass jewelry there, Samantha? We don't have time for this. We need to fuckin' find Ruby before I completely lose my shit.''

''You know, I've never really understood that term,'' Josef pipes up conversationally. ''People keep saying it, but I just don't get it. You humans these days. You all talk so strangely.''

''Most pawn shops,'' Sam continues, choosing to ignore the rude interruptions from The Odder Couple over there. ''Have cameras.''

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.

.

Dean feels like he should be more surprised than he is when the cameras catch an image of Samuel Campbell entering Ruby's apartment building.

''Oh,'' Sam breathes quietly. ''Fuckshit.''

Dean slides his eyes to him briefly.

''Yes, I did just combine two swear words,'' Sam snaps out. ''That is how bad this is.''

''Oh, goody.'' Josef pauses the image of Samuel Campbell and grins madly, leaning forwards in his chair to stare at the grainy image. ''We've got a winner. Name, rank and serial number?''

''Samuel Campbell,'' Dean says shortly, crossing his arms. ''We should've shot him. He's a fuckin' dick. He's also kind of our grandfather.''

Sam twitches uncomfortably and his right index finger won't stop tapping the table. Dean glances at him out of the corner of his eye with a frown marring his lips.

Josef lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. ''Semantics.'' He hums under his breath, stares at the image for a moment longer like he's trying to engrave it in his memory, and then he rises to his feet. ''Well,'' he announces with a sunny smile. ''Let's go rip his throat out. Objections?''

''I got none,'' Dean says.

''Are we really going to kill him?'' Sam asks, standing to his feet. ''I mean, I know he's an asshole but he's also human. And he's - ''

''I swear to God, if you say he's family I'm gonna punch you in the throat,'' Dean snaps. ''That man isn't family. _Ruby_ is family. If we have to take him out to save Ruby, what choice are you gonna make? Hmm?''

Sam bounces on the balls of his feet - the kid cannot stay still these days - and then looks back at the screen with a heavy sigh. ''Okay,'' he finally says. ''Let's go.''

''Time is a tickin', boys,'' Josef drawls out through a sneer. ''Aside from holy water being an excellent torture device, it also serves as a hell of a drug for demons. Gets you wired up like Red Bull. And when Ruby gets wired, she gets a little - ''

''Loopy?'' Sam guesses. ''Surlier than usual? Weepy?''

''Chatty,'' Dean corrects. ''She gets chatty. It's the adrenaline.''

Josef snaps his fingers. ''Right you are, Rebel With A Shitty Cause. Now, you better suit up, Damon and Stefan. We gotta go find your Elena.''

.

.

.

''Hey, hair plugs! You got anything to wash the taste of blood out of my mouth?''

Ruby taps her foot impatiently and cranes her neck in an effort to see through the door. Doesn't work. Her shoulders droop in disappointment and she licks her dry lips, beginning to pace the length of the Devil's Trap. She hates being caged. She's not a wild animal. Dean once told her she was like a bird. She didn't deserve to be caged, he said. She deserved to fly. Of course he was plied when he said that. It still counts. She closes her eyes and breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth as evenly as she can.

A memory flickers behind her eyelids and she rubs her aching head, but can't swallow the memory down. She remembers the night he told her that, half drunk, half naked and all the way broken. ''Like a wildfire,'' he had mumbled, kissing his way up her body. ''Like a nightmare. If you're a bird, I'm a bird, Holly Golightly.''

She learned quickly with Dean that when he was hammered, he let slip embarrassing things about himself. Like the fact that he can quote _The Notebook_ from memory. She had taken advantage of it once just to have something to use against him. But then she learned that while he did go into sharing mode when sloshed, he also got weirdly insightful and deep, and all those feelings he kept bottled up came rushing out into the open. Feelings about her. Things she didn't want to hear.

But then, a few weeks later, roughly two weeks before he died, she had slipped into a motel room while Sam was out and Dean was drunk, and he had said all those things she still remembers. _Like a wildfire,_ she remembers. _Like a nightmare._ So then she had pushed him and his drunken nonsensical ramblings off of her and slipped her clothes back on because the second he started to quote _The Notebook_ at her, she knew it was time to flee. She remembers that night (she remembers every night, but this one is different) because that was the night she realized she was in love with him. Fitting, no? Drunken slurs and broken eyes made her fall in love. Seems just about right.

Her eyes snap open and she jolts forward, slamming against the wall of the Devil's Trap as her eyes go black. ''This is suicide!'' She bellows. ''I hope you know that! If Crowley doesn't kill you, I'm sure one of my guys will gladly slice you up real good. And if they don't, you better believe I will.'' She lets out a frustrated scream that's been sitting in her throat for ages and she so badly wants to wrap her hands around something and squeeze until she can't feel her fingers anymore. Unfortunately for her, she is fresh out of necks to wring and demons to kill.

The spot where she was injected still burns and itches and the Devil's Trap is cramped and small. She feels as if the world is beginning to close in on her. Funny. She hadn't realized she was claustrophobic. It must be the holy water. Deep down, under all of the things she buries like she's dug graves for her secrets, she knows it is not just the holy water. It's the weight of everything that is finally beginning to crush her. This cannot be happening. This can't be the way she goes out. How fucking anticlimactic would that be? ''Hey!'' She starts to move forwards again, but catches herself at the last minute. ''George Costanza! Are you fucking listening to me?! Don't pretend you can't hear me! I know you can hear me!''

She swallows another screech and lets her stuffy head fall into her hands, fingers pulling at her hair. With a sigh, she slumps to the ground, crossing her legs and leaning back against the invisible wall of the trap. She's losing it. She can feel it. There's a dull, leftover vibration of adrenaline under her skin and it's driving her crazy. What is she supposed to do? Just sit here and twiddle her thumbs while she waits for Samuel to kill her? ''You can't keep me here forever, Samuel.'' She does her best to make her voice sound mocking, but it comes out as something of a croak because her throat is still raw and her mouth is still dry. ''The longer you keep me here, the more dangerous it becomes for you. Come on, Lex Luthor. You're not that stupid.''

The door clangs open and Samuel strides through, mouth set in a hard line. He eyes her with disgust, sneering briefly like he thinks he's better than her. He tosses a duffel bag on the rickety table and she lifts her eyes to the ceiling. The look in his eyes - hollow and unforgiving like dead corpse eyes - is what unnerves her the most. It doesn't help when he pulls out a worn old journal and a rosary. She scrambles to her feet and takes a step back out of instinct, clenching her jaw. ''Hey, bald eagle scout. Whatcha got there?''

''You're right,'' he shrugs. ''The longer you're alive, the more danger I'm in. So I thought we'd fix that.''

Fear starts gnawing in her gut like a painful ulcer, but she uses every last ounce of willpower left in her to smile widely and pretend she's okay. ''Exorcising me isn't going to kill me, conehead. I crawled my way out once, I can do it again, and the first thing I'm gonna do is come after you.''

''Maybe,'' he says smoothly. ''But if you do somehow claw your way out, I'll get to send you right back. And that's a big if. I mean,'' he lets out a small, quiet chuckle. ''I think after everything, your sister's gonna want to keep you with her. Wouldn't you agree?''

Her blood runs cold. ''Margaret,'' she snarls out around the bitter taste in her mouth, ''is dead. She's not in Hell. She's _dead_.''

Samuel's catlike eyes glint. ''You sure about that?''

_He's just trying to scare you_ , her conscience reminds her. She stands straight, sets her jaw, and resigns herself to her fate. ''I'll see you in Hell, Mr. Campbell.''

The first two words - _exorcizamus te_ \- are like pinpricks. She feels them and she can't hide her flinch, but she doesn't make a sound. Her heart is beating out of her chest. The next three - _omnis immundus spiritus_ \- are like parasites that make her insides turn upside down. Her entire body shudders violently with nausea. A groan bubbles up in her throat and she twitches noticeably. Not exactly the way she pictured herself going out. She thought for sure it would have been Crowley. ''You do this and somebody's gonna punch you in the face,'' she hisses out through her teeth. He keeps going - _omnis satanica potestas_ \- and she falls to her hands and knees, gags climbing their way up her throat.

It doesn't last long and the pain stops.

''Hey.''

Samuel turns around.

Josef punches him in the face.

The punch is enough to send Samuel stumbling backwards, but not enough to send him to the ground. Josef smiles humorlessly, showing off his teeth. His eyes flash black. Demons really are just animals, but Ruby's never seen Josef look like that. Clearly without the stabilizing presence of his wife, he's gone full on Rambo. ''Can't say you didn't set yourself up for that one, old man.'' He jams his knee into Samuel's gut and Samuel crumbles and folds into himself, falling to his knees.

Ruby lets out a breath of relief, sprawling out onto her back, drawing in a few deep breaths. About fucking time the cavalry showed up.

Samuel, despite the fact that he's now officially outnumbered and out-strengthed, is a scrappy man who doesn't give in that easily. Ruby can practically hear his teeth gnashing together as he hauls himself off the ground and lunges at Josef. He catches him off guard and they both go to the ground, rolling around with fists flying. Still stuck in the goddamned Devil's Trap, Ruby lets out a hiss of indignation and glares at the offending symbols keeping her in place. She pulls herself to her feet, pinching her lips together tightly.

Sometime in between Josef snapping out a, ''Give it up, baldie'' and Samuel punching Josef on the nose, Sam comes skidding to a halt in the doorway. He pauses for about two seconds in the doorway to catch his breath, looks at Josef and Samuel, and then races forwards.

''How did you find me?'' She breathes out when Sam leans down to break the Devil's Trap.

He looks up at her and yanks her towards him, out of the circle. ''Samuel has a few properties that he uses for - ''

''Sadistic creep purposes?''

Josef, after effectively rendering Samuel unconscious, is rising to his feet, brushing off his clothes. ''Just got jumped by a fucking grandpa,'' he grumbles. ''I was in the suburbs for too long.''

''I figured this would be the place he would take you,'' Sam continues. ''It's soundproof.''

''That's grim,'' Josef cuts in. ''Your grandfather's a freaky old bastard.''

''Where's Dean?'' Ruby asks, peering around Sam's shoulder.

''He went to check the basement.'' Sam's hands fall to her shoulders, ushering her towards the door.

''Come on. We need to get you - ''

Ruby sees it first. Samuel, not as unconscious as he would like people to think, reaches for something in his pocket. When she sees what it is, Ruby, ever the martyr, full of self-damning, heroic, and self-sacrificial tendencies, goes forwards and throws all of her weight onto her uncle, knocking him back a step. The holy water Samuel has intended to throw at Josef splashes onto Ruby instead and she shrieks in shock, skin burning mercilessly. Sam is the one to react this time, just like the well trained soldier he has been taught to be. He grabs Samuel, hauls him to his feet easily, and throws him up against the wall like the man is nothing but a ragdoll.

Samuel, in a pathetic act of self preservation, decides the best way to avoid being killed by an angry Winchester is to throw Ruby under the bus. ''You know your girl's working for Crowley, right?'' And then he has the gall to smirk.

Sam falters. She doesn't think he means to falter, but trust is a hard thing for Winchesters. It's an instinct to believe only the worst in people. Still stings, though.

''Oh,'' Josef sneers and rises gracefully to his feet. ''Go blow it out your - ''

''I'm telling the truth,'' Samuel says calmly.

Josef shakes his head. His fingers wrap around Ruby's wrist and he pulls her to him, brushing away the droplets of holy water still on her cheek, wincing when it burns his own skin. When he attempts to pull his sleeve over his hand to wipe the holy water off her face in some kind of paternal instinct, she scowls and swats his hand away, biting back a comment about how she's not a child.

''Why on earth would I ever believe anything that comes out of your mouth?'' Sam asks lowly. ''Do you realize what you've done? If you had any ounce of - ''

''Sam.'' Samuel meets his grandson's eyes and waits for Sam to drop his hands. When he doesn't, Samuel lets out a breath and shakes his head with what he probably thinks is the most sincerely apologetic look plastered on his ugly mug. ''It's true.''

''It's not true!'' With Sam's eyes still carefully blank, Ruby starts to panic. ''Sam, it's not true! I would never...'' She trails off and can't bring herself to honestly say the words _I_ _would never work for Crowley_. After all, wouldn't that be a lie? Technically, she is working for Crowley. ''I would never hurt you,'' she finally says quietly. ''Tell me you know that.''

''But hasn't she said that before?'' Samuel questions, grinning wickedly.

''Fuck,'' Josef curses, sour look crossing his face. ''Aren't you a motherfucking treat? Am I really supposed to stand here and listen to this without ripping your head from your body? I can do it, you know.''

''Tell me again what happened two and a half years ago, Sam,'' Samuel says softly. ''Didn't she play this same game back then?''

Sam lets him go.

Ruby's panic flares. ''Sam, no! That wasn't me! That wasn't me, that was my sister!'' Oh. Oops. She claps a hand over her mouth and realizes just a little too late what she has just said. Like so many other things, Margaret is one of those dusty old skeletons in her closet that neither Winchester brother knows about. Sam knows bits and pieces about her human life. He knows she was a witch, he knows she did it to try and save people she loved, he knows the time period she was alive in, and he knows - unlike Dean - about her brief affair with Henry the Blacksmith. Dean knows more detailed stories, things about her father, about her mother, things she's never told anyone else about having to watch Matthew and Cecily die. But neither of them know anything about Margaret. She has worked so hard to forget Margaret ever existed. Even after she was told Margaret was the one who played house in her life, it was her goal to pretend she never had a monster of a sister. Margaret is dead. What's the point in bringing up bad memories?

Well, for one thing, if she had just told Sam and Dean, she would be avoiding that look right there.

Sam turns his head to look at her, jaw twitching in frustration. ''Your sister,'' he echoes. It's not a question. It comes out as a soft sigh and he has to pinch the bridge of his nose. ''She was your sister.'' And then he laughs. ''Of course she was your sister.''

There's really no use in lying now, so she nods and takes a step back. ''Her name was Margaret.''

''See,'' Samuel interrupts, growling out his disapproval through his teeth. Disgust directed towards her flashes in his eyes and he points an accusing finger at her. ''If she lied to you about that, what else is she lying about?''

''She never lied about her sister,'' Josef says smoothly. ''She just omitted some minor details. There's a difference.''

''But what else is she keeping from you?'' Samuel asks, daring to reach out and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. ''She _is_ keeping things from you,'' he says, gravelly voice trying too hard to be convincing and comforting at the same time. ''Isn't she? You know she is. Think about it. All those times she's snuck off and disappeared for days. Weeks. How she keeps telling you not to worry about her? How many lies is she telling you?''

''Will you stop acting like you know me?'' Ruby spits out angrily, wrenching free of Josef's grasp. ''You really have no idea what you're talking about. Stop pretending you do.''

''I know enough, you demonic whore,'' Samuel fires back. ''She's filthy,'' he says to Sam, voice softening. ''She's a demon. Since when are demons trustworthy? Come on, Sammy. You know it's true.''

Samuel's bitter cheap shots have gotten under Sam's skin. That much is obvious. She can almost see all the little doubts crawling and itching and worming under his skin. They're like fine lines on his face. She doesn't think he believes any of Samuel's malarkey, but she can tell he definitely wants some answers about all of the secrets she's keeping. However, with that said, as soon as the slur of whore slips through his lips, followed by that off limits nickname, whatever hold he had on Sam disappears. Sam turns back around to blink at Samuel, sighs, and then punches his grandfather, small smirk flickering on his lips when the man goes down instantly.

''Well,'' Josef pipes up. ''That was eventful. Can we go now?''

''Ruby.'' Sam shakes his head. ''Jesus.''

''You can't honestly believe that rat,'' Josef says incredulously. ''The man was desperate! He would have said anything.''

''I don't think you're working for Crowley,'' Sam tells Ruby. ''But I think you're hiding something. I _know_ you're hiding something. And I want to know what. I want you to tell me everything. Right now.''

''Not right now, Sam,'' she argues. ''This isn't the place.''

''Damn it, Ruby.'' In two quick strides, Sam has closed the distance between them and he's gripping her arms. ''Why is it so hard for you to just tell us the truth?''

''Okay.'' Josef steps in between them, shoving Sam away roughly without any sort of care. ''You need to _back off_. You think I'm afraid to beat you?''

Before an argument can occur, Ruby feels an all too familiar feeling. Its white hot agony at its finest and it hits like a freight train. At first there's the creeping heat and nausea that lets her know what is about to happen and why it's happening to her, and then, before she even has a chance to run and hide - because the last thing she wants is to have to explain this to Sam; he'll tell Dean and Dean will go nuts - the pain slams into her at full force. It's in her chest this time, searing agony that sends her doubling over, gasping and clawing at her chest in unsuccessful attempts to breathe. It feels like she has just been stabbed through the chest by a knife. That's the only way to describe it. She can literally feel it twisting. She can't hear Sam and Josef, but she knows they're talking. She can feel their hands on her, trying to keep her upright. She can feel the blood in her throat, climbing up. When it starts to pour out of her mouth and her legs go weak, she hears a rushing sound and hears their garbled, panicked sounding voices.

''...Crowley?'' Sam's asking. ''What does he have to do with this?''

''Just find him,'' Josef barks. ''Trust me, he's here. Find him.''

''No,'' Ruby begs through her teeth and the blood in her mouth, clutching at Josef's shirt. ''Joe. ...Joe, don't.''

''Know what, doll?'' Josef bites out. ''Fuck you. They need to know. Sam, I'm sure Ruby will tell you everything later, just as soon as she's not coughing up blood. For now, just go find your dumbass brother and pull him off Crowley.''

.

.

.

For the second time today, Dean is thinking that he should be more surprised than he is. As it is, when he rounds the corner and finds Crowley leaning casually against the doorframe, chomping on an apple, all he feels is a dull ache of dread in his gut. Maybe he just has a hard time feeling surprised by anything anymore. He's seen so much fucked up shit these past years it's hard for things to shock the hell out of him.

''Evening,'' Crowley greets with an easy smile.

Dean heaves a sigh. Somewhere in the distance, water drips. He needs to find Ruby and gank grandpa. He doesn't need to have a monster sarcasm rally with a razor tongued demon dick. ''Crowley.'' Despite the fact that it will do jack squat, Dean cocks his gun and points it at Crowley's chest. ''What the hell are you doing here?''

Crowley grins, showing off his pearly whites as he tosses the apple core aside and pushes off the wall. ''I'm here to save my girl,'' he drawls. ''Obviously.''

Dean's jaw clenches. ''Excuse me?''

''Did you really think she was yours?'' Crowley laughs and takes a step closer. Dean's finger itches to pull the trigger. ''Please. She's with me.'' With a shake of his head and a jovial glint in his eyes, Crowley waggles his finger in disapproval and the gun goes flying out of Dean's hands. ''I'm going to level with you here, Dean,'' he says plainly, spreading his arms wide. ''I'm the secret.''

Dean's heart plummets and sinks to the pit of his stomach. He has flashes of the betrayal from two and a half years ago, the one that silently ate away at him while he pretended it didn't sting. He remembers the way dark hair fell in waves down her back and the way her lips curled into a nasty smirk. ''What?''

''I'm all of those little lies she's told,'' Crowley continues, creeping closer and circling Dean like a vulture. ''I'm the puppet master. I'm the trouble she's in. You might say I'm the monster under her bed. You see, Dean,'' Crowley licks his lips. ''Her bloodline has always been mine. It always will be. Ruby has certain sins she needs to pay for. Hence, she is my play toy.'' Looking thoroughly engrossed by the sound of his own voice, Crowley makes the dreadful mistake of turning his back on Dean. ''So, you see, you and I, Dean, we obviously have a problem.''

Dean has stopped listening. Ten and a half months. That's how long Ruby has been back in his life. Ten and a half months. That's almost a year. Ruby has had almost a year of bruises, cuts, and other grotesque wounds. He wants to kick himself. He's lost count of the bruises, stopped counting the number of times he's asked her what kind of trouble she's in, and he needs a calculator for all of the lies she's told. He should have figured this out sooner. He should have fought harder for the truth. He was just so used to her saving herself that he forgot that everybody needs saving at some point in their life. Nobody should ever have to go it alone, no matter how strong they might be.

And it's Crowley.

Naturally, it's _fucking Crowley_.

With all of the pieces finally fitting together like a gruesome demonic puzzle depicting a prison made of bones, and his gun on the ground, Dean is left to pluck a steel rod from the dirty ground and hope that will do enough damage.

''...and so...'' Crowley is saying, back still facing the hunter. ''I've decided that I can't let you have her. You fill her head with all these ideas about self-worth and fighting back. They're aggravating qualities, Dean, and I just do not have the patience for - ''

''Crowley?''

''Hmm?''

The second Crowley turns around Dean lunges forwards and stabs the rebar right through the demon dick's cold, cold heart. ''You have got to shut up, dude.''

Aside from the initial grunt of pain, Crowley appears to be largely unfazed by the bar sticking out of his chest. ''That was foolish,'' he murmurs. ''This isn't going to kill me.''

''True.'' Dean twists the steel bar and takes immense pleasure in the blood that dribbles out of the corner of Crowley's mouth. ''But I'll bet it hurts like hell.''

Crowley's response to that is a laugh. ''You're right,'' he says with a nod. ''I'll bet it does.'' His fingers wrap around the makeshift weapon, his eyes flash, and he yanks it out of his chest, immediately turning it around on Dean.

Dean catches the weapon before it can collide against the side of his head, hands wrapped around the rebar. ''You're a cocky little bastard, aren't you?'' He asks with a bitter smirk.

''That's a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?'' Crowley hisses. ''I don't think you have any idea what you're doing.''

''Yeah?'' Dean digs his knees into Crowley's gut, takes advantage of Crowley's momentary distraction, and twists the rebar out of the demon's grasp. ''Why don't you explain it to me then?''

Crowley smirks. ''It's more fun for me if I don't.''

Dean shrugs, grips the rebar like a baseball bat, and swings it, smashing it against the side of Crowley's head. ''Suit yourself.''

On the ground, Crowley laughs through the blood in his mouth. It's an ugly sounding laugh. Like nails scraping down a chalkboard. ''Not so fun for Ruby though,'' he says slowly, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Dean catches Crowley under the chin with the rebar. ''Oh, I wouldn't worry about Ruby if I were you,'' he says cheerfully. ''You're not going to be touching her ever again.''

Down on his knees, blood running from his mouth and nose, Crowley stares up at Dean like he doesn't have a care in the world. ''I won't have to lay a finger on her, muscle head,'' he sneers. ''You're hurting her enough for the both of us.''

Dean twirls the rebar again. ''Care to explain what that means?''

''Dean!'' Sam's voice rings out through the stale, damp smelling air, panicked and loud. Dean never gets a chance to look up because the next thing he knows, Sam's fingers are digging into his shoulders and pulling him away from Crowley. ''Dean, stop!'' Sam's shouting, pushing his brother away from the demon on the ground. ''Stop! You're hurting her! You're hurting Ruby! Everything that's happening to Crowley is happening to Ruby!''

Like a bullet through the heart.

The steel rod drops noisily to the ground when Dean's hand goes limp. A white hot searing rage begins in his chest and spreads throughout his entire body, so all consuming it makes his throat ache and his head spin. He cannot remember the last time he felt a rage this powerful. Actually, that's not true. He remembers precisely the last time he felt like this. ''You want to spend the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester's on your ass?'' Walt had asked in that motel room, Sam lying dead on the bed next to Dean's. '''Cause I don't.''

A Winchester is not someone you want to fuck with. You want to know what he did to Roy and Walt when he found them after his little afterlife trip? It was slow, painful, and messy. That was how pissed off he was. Nobody ever touches someone Dean Winchester loves 'cause when he loves you, he _loves_ you.

Fully aware of the murderous rage gleaming in Dean's irises, Crowley hums under his breath and rises to his feet, wiping blood from his lips and brushing dirt off his coat. ''Oh, that's right,'' he snaps his fingers, grin stretching across his lips. ''Did I forget to mention that little detail?'' He shrugs and tilts his head to the side, staring at the Winchesters, one horrified, one homicidal. ''Well. Now you know. How's them apples, boys? Now, I know what you're thinking. What kind of hoodoo am I pulling with this? Well, I'll tell you something, boys. This isn't simple witchcraft. This isn't a pathetic little desperate spell Ruby cast all those years ago. This is magic at its strongest. _Real_ magic. This is the big leagues, boys. And - '' Crowley stalks towards Dean, leaning in close enough to whisper in his ear. ''Do you want to know the best part?'' He pulls back with a wicked smirk. ''You can't do a thing about it. Now. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get my chew toy. Ah,'' he tosses a look over his shoulder as he's stalking towards the door. ''And also? Get bent, gentlemen.''

''She's not here,'' Sam pipes up, folding his arms over his chest.

Crowley stops in the doorway and spins on his heel. ''Nice try. But I know she's here.''

''She's really not,'' Sam shrugs. ''I had a friend take her home. And he moves fast.''

''Josef,'' Crowley mutters under his breath. ''Imbecile.'' He recovers quickly, shrugging his shoulders. ''Well, no worries. Trust me, Doublemint Twins. This fight is only just getting started. I'll be seeing you.''

Dean tries to remember how to swallow.

.

.

.

_''You are a fever I am learning to live with, and everything is happening_  
_at the wrong end of a very long tunnel''_   
**-straw house, straw dog**


	15. Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

_but monsters are always hungry, darling_

.

.

.

_'_ _'I've been in your body, baby, and it was paradise._  
_I've been in your body and it was a carnival ride.''_  
**\- the dislocated room**

.

.

.

She lives in between the pulses of good and evil.

That's been her place for years, if she's being honest.

She knows that now.

.

.

.

Ruby steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around herself. It's been two days since her secrets exploded, leaving bloody remnants smeared over every part of her life. It's been two days and she is currently stuck in Josef's cabin in the woods outside of Sundance, Wyoming, caged like a poor man's Holly Golightly, and desperately trying to avoid the bed Josef and Adele used to share for a number of different reasons.

As soon as Josef whisked her away from Samuel's torture chamber he took her here, determined to hide her from Crowley just long enough to figure out how to break the spell Crowley has her under. She tried to tell him not to get his hopes up, but he had simply told her he had had enough of her self-sacrificial bullshit. ''We're not doing this your way anymore, doll,'' he had said. ''I'm not going to sit back and watch another woman I love die. Deal with it.'' She could've talked till she was blue in the face but he still would've been the same overprotective paternal figure he has always been.

She sighs and wipes away the condensation fogging up the mirror. She stares at her reflection in the mirror for a moment, and then she has to look away. It's almost unbearable, how tired she looks these days. Like she isn't even there. Two days without any human contact other than her pissed off and overprotective uncle is wearing on her. She knows Josef is communicating with the Winchesters. She knows they're all trying to come up with some master plan to save her life. What she doesn't know is what Dean and Sam think of her now. Do they think she's a weakling because of this? Are they bitter because she never told them? Are they guilty? Knowing them, she's willing to put money on the last one. She wants so badly to explain herself to the Winchesters. She wants to tell them everything she's done for them, all of the things they don't know about. She wants them to know that she's not weak, that she's still the same Ruby she's always been. She wants to make sure they know how much she cares about them.

For when she won't be around to tell them that. She knows this won't last long. The peace and quiet. The standstill. This is the calm before the storm, and that never lasts long. It's all just temporary. When Crowley decides he wants to stop playing hide and seek, Josef and a safe house and the thick Wyoming woods won't stop him. When it comes down to it, Crowley's going to pluck her right out of the trees and throw her right back in his dark, dank cave where he thinks she belongs. It's only a matter of waiting now.

Ruby swallows hard and pulls a shirt over her head before wriggling into her jeans. Running a hand through her still damp hair, she steps out into the bedroom and then into the hallway. ''Josef!'' She calls out, making her way down the hallway. She pauses in front of a picture of Adele with a bright smile lighting up her kind face, glowing in the sunlight behind her. It's times like these that Ruby really wishes Adele were here. She would have a bright side for everything. She'd be able to spot those elusive silver linings that Ruby can never seem to find.

Ruby looks at the picture for a moment too long and then decides that she cannot do this right now. She can't have a breakdown right now. ''Josef!'' She calls out again, turning away from Adele's picture. ''We need to talk,'' she says, entering the living room. ''Exactly how are you planning on keeping me here? You can't watch me every single second of every single day for the rest of my life, you know.''

''Josef's not here,'' a voice says. ''He's on his way back to Sioux Falls.''

Her breath catches in her throat and she turns around. Thunder rolls in the distance, a sure sign that a March thunderstorm is coming soon. She wishes she had a drink for this.

He smiles at her for about a fraction of a second and then collapses heavily against the doorframe. ''Guess who's on Ruby patrol,'' he tries to joke. His half hearted smile slips off his lips when his weak attempt at a joke fails. He just looks so relieved to see her. She can't remember the last time she saw him look at anyone like that. The last time she saw anyone look at anyone like that was when Josef saw Adele walking down the aisle when they renewed their vows on their sixth anniversary.

''Dean...''

He seems to swallow hard, drinking in the sight of her greedily for about a minute and a half before he pushes off the doorframe and tightens his jaw. ''Sweetheart,'' he says with a tilt of his head. ''You better start talkin'.''

.

.

.

Castiel has never pretended to understand Sam Winchester. He does not fathom the way that boy's mind works. He never has and he has accepted that he never will. Dean, on the other hand, is an open book. He tries so hard not to be. He tries so hard to be a closed and locked book, but Castiel has always been able to read him just fine. He may find it hard to totally one hundred percent understand him sometimes, but he never loses sight of Dean's end plan, which has always been one thing: family. It is as simple and as complicated as that.

It might just be, Castiel thinks, that in the end, everything simply boils down to the bond he has managed to forge with Dean and the one has hasn't been able to find with Sam. He likes Sam, he cares for Sam - he's his friend. It's just a simple case of being close to one brother and being too far away from the other. Whatever the reason, Castiel has never had much of a relationship with Sam. At least not the kind of relationship he has with Dean. His relationship with Sam is far less, well, _profound._ In a word.

This is precisely the reason why Castiel has never been able to see certain things in Sam. They're the kind of things that he sees easily in Dean. This is not to say Sam doesn't have those things, you must understand. It's just that Castiel cannot see them clearly. In a way, Dean is a beacon of light and Sam is like a dark, impenetrable fortress. That is just the way it has always been. Even before the Winchester brothers knew who he was, when he was watching them as they grew up, Sam was always the darker brother. The one more susceptible to evil and outside force.

To summarize: Castiel knows almost every inch of Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester remains an enigma.

But lately, things have been changing. The space growing between Dean and Castiel isn't entirely Dean's fault, Castiel knows that. Drifting apart is something that humans do sometimes and besides, Castiel has his own problems he is being forced to deal with right now. And, as time goes on and things change, Sam is becoming what seems to be a new kind of beacon of light.

Suddenly, Castiel _knows._

He knows what's going on in Sam's mind. He knows what the boy is doing to himself. Sam is indulging in pharmaceuticals. It's painfully obvious to Castiel; he can practically see the haze of drugs surrounding Sam. By the time he is summoned to Sam's side at Bobby Singer's house to discuss the issue of Ruby, the cloud around Sam, the fog, the darkness has gotten so bad it's hard to see the poor boy's face. But what's more distressing to Castiel, is how no one else seems to notice.

''Crowley said that whatever spell he's got going on is rooted in real magic,'' Sam's saying as he paces the length of Bobby's living room, rubbing his forehead with shaking hands.

''Yes,'' Castiel says quietly. ''I believe he has a witch under his thumb.''

''A witch?'' Sam perks up, hope glimmering in his erratic, bloodshot eyes. ''All right, well, that's good, isn't it? A witch is simple.''

''Not this kind of witch,'' Castiel corrects. ''This isn't the kind of witch that prays for power, this would be a real witch. Born to his or her power. It's different.''

''O-Oh,'' Sam nods, biting his lip, eyes darting around wildly. ''Like a Charmed one?''

Assuming that is some sort of reference, Castiel fixes his lips into a thin, straight line and shakes his head. ''I don't - ''

''Never mind,'' Sam waves his hand distractedly. ''How do we reverse the spell?''

''We don't.''

''Then how do we break it?''

''We don't.''

''There must be a way to - ''

''There isn't.''

A vein pops up on the side of Sam's neck, throbbing angrily. ''Okay, you're not workin' with me, Cas,'' he bites out lowly. ''I need you to work with me. There has to be a way to break the spell.''

''If it is real witchcraft,'' Castiel says carefully, and he's _sure_ that it is. ''The spell should be unbreakable. Real witchcraft is impenetrable,'' he explains. ''That's why it's so rare. Like unicorns.''

Sam stops pacing and his jaw drops. ''Unicorns are - ''

''No. They were. They're extinct now.''

Sam shakes off his shock, licking his dry bitten lips and striding towards the angel. ''We can't just leave her to die!'' He shouts, desperation edging into his voice. ''It's Ruby! He can't have her! We need her.''

Castiel stares at him, lips turning up ever so slightly into a barely noticeable smile of amusement. ''...May I ask why?''

''I don't know. We just do!'' Sam turns his wide eyes to Castiel. He looks like a drug addled junkie, hair messy, eyes bulging, thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. Castiel is worried about Sam Winchester. He may not be able to decipher Sam's complicated mind, but he is still his friend. ''Cas,'' Sam croaks out. ''Cas, come on, you're an angel. Th-There's gotta be something you can do here. Please tell me you can save her.''

Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but then remembers the promise he made to Ruby. He is not to tell the Winchester boys anything about the plan they've cooked up. It still seems somewhat strange to him to be the acquaintance of a demon. But Ruby.... There's just something about Ruby. She loves Dean. She loves Dean with everything in her. That means... Castiel isn't quite sure what that means, but it means something. ''Sam,'' he begins, treading the waters of the younger Winchester's addiction carefully. ''How many pills have you taken today?''

Sam goes ramrod straight and his eyes darken. Castiel is going to go ahead and guess that was not the right topic to change the subject to. ''I don't know what you're talking about,'' the Winchester denies hotly, face souring.

''You're under the influence of something,'' Castiel points out needlessly. ''It's quite obvious. I'm assuming you do a better job of hiding the affects in front of Dean, because you're doing a terrible job right now. Or perhaps you've just upped your dosage today.''

''Dean,'' Sam spits out, ''doesn't see anything. I make sure he doesn't see anything.''

''Is that an admission?''

Sam drops his gaze, and then pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh of exasperation.

''You're drowning,'' Castiel accuses softly.

Sam rolls his eyes. ''I've got it under control.''

''You're an addict, Sam. Addicts often trade one addiction for another. You can't tell me you're not doing that.''

Sam laughs at that. It's a strange sounding laugh. It gets caught in his throat and comes out as almost a dry sob. ''You don't know anything about me.''

''I know you're in pain,'' Castiel objects. ''I know you're lonely.''

Sam's lips thin. ''I didn't summon you here to talk about me and my pain, Castiel. I summoned you here because - ''

''You want to save your friend,'' Castiel nods. ''I understand that, Sam. But what you're asking of me... It can't be done.''

Sam seems to have a hard time swallowing that one down. Castiel decides his best option would be to stick around and keep an eye on the boy. He thinks it's what Dean would want him to do. ''We have done a lot of things that supposedly couldn't be done,'' Sam points out angrily. ''Until we did them. What makes this time so different?''

Castiel sighs, presses his lips together, and says, ''Magic.''

.

.

.

''You shouldn't be here, Dean.''

''That's too damn bad.''

Exhausted from a mere five seconds with him, Ruby sinks into the cushions of the overstuffed sofa in Josef's living room, raking her fingers through her still damp hair. The story Dean wants to know is a story she has never told anyone. She's told bits and pieces to Josef (and some of it he lived with her), and Crowley has told it to her many times over and over again like he's reciting a prayer, but she has never told anyone herself. She knows the story by heart, of course. After all, she wrote most of the words. But there is a certain weakness in saying it out loud to someone else.

She licks her lips and looks up at him, watching him standing there all tense and frustrated. ''What do you want to know?''

His jaw twitches and he starts towards her, then stops abruptly as if he isn't sure whether or not he's allowed to come closer. ''Everything.'' She gives him a humorless smile. ''Everything's an awful lot, Dean.''

''I've got time.''

''I'm not sure you do.''

''We'll make time,'' he bites out shortly. ''Now start talking.''

Ultimately, she sighs and gives up, gesturing towards the empty seat beside her. ''Fine,'' she gets out through her teeth. ''But you better sit down. This is a long story.'' Dean eyes the seat beside her, and then opts for the chair across from her. It's an inappropriate time to say it, but she smirks and says anyway, ''Are you afraid I'm going to pounce on you?''

''No,'' he grunts. ''You're not the one I'm worried about.''

Implications clear, she twists the smirk off her lips and curls her feet under her. Eyes still firmly on him, she lays her head down on top of her arm, which is resting on the arm rest. ''This story starts in the 13th century, Dean,'' she warns. ''And there is no way to sugarcoat it. It's an awful story.''

''But it's a friggin' story all the same,'' he remarks lightly. ''So tell it.''

She lifts her head to stare at him for a moment. He holds her gaze the best that he can, the line of his mouth never faltering, the determined fire in his eyes never going away. There's a long minute of silence that feels like it goes on for a million years and then she nods slowly, ducking her head. She opens her mouth to tell the story, hesitates briefly, biting her lip, and then she begins to speak. ''When I was human,'' she starts softly, so softly he has to strain to hear her. ''I had three siblings. Cecily was born a few weeks before I turned nine and Matthew was born on my seventeenth birthday. You know these things. But,'' she looks up at him with a sharp intake of breath. ''I also had an older sister.''

''Yeah,'' Dean nods, eyes darkened. ''Margaret or whatever. Sam told me.''

Her eyes flash black. ''Sam doesn't know enough to tell you _anything_.''

''Was it her? Was she the one who got Sam hooked on demon blood?''

Ruby presses her lips together and hums in frustration. ''Yes. But you're getting ahead of yourself,'' she smiles lightly (and probably very unconvincingly). ''That's the middle of the story. We're only at the beginning.'' She takes a few deliberate and slow breaths in order to quell the nausea that is quickly rising in her stomach due to all of the nasty, prickly memories of everything Margaret used to do to her. ''Margaret was...'' She swallows. ''She was a very cruel person. Unusually so. Even as a child she was cold. I was her favourite punching bag. She'd push me to the ground and kick dirt in my eyes and give me bruises that only our mother would see. And our mother didn't care. One time, Margaret cut off all my hair while I was sleeping. That was just the kind of person she was. But make no mistake. I may have been her favourite victim, but I was not the only one. Right after Cecily was born Margaret would pass the time by pricking Cece's feet with pins. She'd - She'd laugh when she cried. I mean, she killed small animals for fun. There was something _wrong_ with her, Dean,'' the register of her voice drops and she sucks in a breath. ''She didn't feel things the way people are supposed to. She had no remorse, no compassion. Even our mother had feelings. Usually they were only reserved for our father - because that woman didn't love much, but she did love him - they were still there. But Margaret...'' Ruby shakes her head, trying to ignore the shivers running up and down her spine. ''There was more to her than just a spoiled, bratty princess. All she ever wanted to do was hurt people. She was a psychopath,'' she nods, seemingly incredibly satisfied with her amateur diagnosis. ''There's no other way to describe what she was. She was a sinister psychopath. The perfect kind of person to carve a demon out of.''

She pauses briefly to flick her eyes to Dean. If she's expecting some sort of reaction - muted horror, suppressed anger - she is mostly disappointed. His steady expression hasn't shifted at all, but the slight quickening of his breathing tells her everything she needs to know. ''When Margaret was fifteen and I was nine, she was married off - sold, actually - to a passing rich man who took her far, far away from me. It was like a giant weight had been lifted off my chest. I still had my mother to deal with, sure, but at least I didn't have to be scared all the time. My mother may have been cruel and callous, but she never held a candle to Margaret.'' She chews absently on her thumbnail and looks at him through her eyelashes. ''My father died while my mother was pregnant with Matthew. Work accident. He lost too much blood and died in the fields. My mother died giving birth to Matthew a few months later, and I was left alone with two young kids at seventeen. And you know what I felt?''

Dean seems to be held in place by the look in her eyes, mesmerized and possibly a little frightened. ''What?''

''Relief. I was free. I could finally raise those children the way I wanted to raise them. They way they _deserved_ to be raised. And I did. For about five years. For five years, I was mostly alone. Josef and his daughter, Alice, tried to help me out as much as they could for the first year, but then Josef died when Alice and I were eighteen and Alice and her husband moved away. So I was alone. You know...'' She smiles softly. ''I was happy for those five years. Really happy. I think it was the first time in my entire life that I had been truly happy. Losing Josef was - It was hard. But I had kids I had to look after. Cecily was turning into a _beautiful_ girl and Matthew...'' She has to stop. ''He never knew any other mother. There was just me.''

And she may not think he notices how hollow her voice sounds, but he does.

''He called me 'mama' because he genuinely thought I was. Sometimes it was easy to forget that I wasn't really his mother.'' She stops again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear for something to do. It has literally been hundreds of years and while some of her memories have been reduced to smoldering ash, most have hung on, in part because while she was in Hell, all she had to cling to was her memories. But her memories have been condensed, white washed almost. She can remember them, but they're blurry. Distorted and yellowed by age. But some of them - mostly the bad ones - remain engraved into her mind, untouched by the years that have gone by.

''It started about two months after Matthew turned five and I turned twenty one. Life was peaceful and normal and then suddenly... It wasn't. They were...'' She looks down. ''They called it the Black Death. It came sweeping through our village and left a body count that was...'' She can't think of a word horrific enough to describe it. ''Within two and half weeks, the population had gone down significantly and we were all living in fear. People were dropping like flies. Anything - _Anyone_ it touched died whether they were old and weak or young and healthy. It was chaos. Everyone was scared. I remember the fear,'' she nods slowly. ''It was debilitating. People tried to take their children and run, but they wouldn't let us. You couldn't outrun the plague. The town officials told us so. By then, we were all possible carriers so we were all quarantined. I kept Matthew and Cecily locked inside because I didn't know what else to do. They hated it, but I didn't care. I needed them to be safe. Nothing mattered except their safety. I had to keep them safe. It was _my job_.''

Too far gone in her memories, she doesn't notice the way Dean twitches, jaw clenching, eyes widening momentarily.

She remembers the way her previously cheerful village had transformed, seemingly overnight. She remembers the darkness the Bubonic Plague brought along with it. She remembers the smell of decaying flesh that permeated everything. She remembers the sounds of screams and moans that came from the dying and echoed for miles. Those aren't things she can ever forget, no matter how hard she tries. ''But they weren't safe,'' she whispers. ''Nobody was.'' She clears her throat and tries her hardest to regain her composure. ''Cecily got it first. It hit her quite suddenly. One minute she was fine, the next she wasn't. Matthew got it next. His progression was slower. You know,'' a small, dry chuckle pushes its way out of her mouth, laced with trembling hatred and bitterness and more than anything, grief. ''All those history books written by weasel-y little tweed wearing historians who think they know what they're talking about, all those movies made by egotistical douchebags, they all pretend they know what went on back then, but they don't. They don't know jack squat. All those things they've written and all those things that they've showed... It doesn't even come close. There is no possible way to describe the carnage the plague left back then unless you've lived through it. The plague - It's not just an illness. It's an adversary. It spreads, it consumes, it crawls and worms. It eats you up.'' She tilts her head to the side. ''Did you know that the flesh of a person overcome with the Black Death would start to decay while they were still alive? That's what happened to Cecily. It ate away her skin.''

''Ruby,'' Dean stands suddenly. ''Stop.''

She smiles grimly. ''Why? Too much for you?''

Dean stares at her with a sigh and sad eyes. ''It's not me,'' he begins tiredly, ''that I'm worried about.''

''Well, stop,'' she demands harshly. ''You wanted to hear my story, Dean. You wanted to hear everything. This is it. Do you want me to stop?''

He pinches the bridge of his nose. ''No.'' He strips off his jacket, sets his jaw, and takes a seat next to her. ''Keep going.''

Ruby closes her eyes. ''Less than a week later, Cecily was almost gone,'' she continues, taking a deep breath. ''And Matthew was getting worse. There was nothing I could do for them. There was nothing anybody could do for them. All I could do was watch them waste away and hope that the disease would take me too. At least then I would be with them. It didn't matter how much I cried or screamed or prayed. They were going to die and I was going to watch. But then there was Margaret.''

Dean turns his gaze to her sharply.

She pretends not to notice with a bitter smile. ''And Margaret was _bored._ She was the original desperate housewife. Back then, a wife's duty was to produce children and keep the house up. Margaret didn't do either. She was barren so she couldn't produce an heir and she refused to cook or clean. Not that it mattered terribly, of course. Her husband was rich. They had servants for that. But without anything to do all day but torture the servants, Margaret was bored and seen as useless. So, to spice up her life, she got involved in black magic. Witchcraft, to be exact. At least that's a version of the story she told me when she showed up on my doorstep. She told me that she had heard the Black Death had taken most of the village and she had snuck in to help.''

''You believed her?''

''Of course not,'' she bites out. ''I had no reason to. She had visited us exactly twice since getting married. Once after our father died and once after our mother died. And now she was well on her way to becoming a demon. I had no reason to trust her. But when she told me she could save Matthew and Cecily, how could I say no? I was desperate. I would've done anything for those kids. Even selling my soul. It's incredibly easy to sell your soul.'' She side eyes him. ''But I'm sure you know that. It's even easier,'' she sighs, ''to sell your soul to witchcraft. A few incantations, a little blood oath, and some miscellaneous dark arts crap and - boom. You've got yourself a one way ticket to the land of fire. But I didn't care. As long as it saved my kids, it was worth it. So Margaret gave me some spells, showed me how to do them, and then left town. I really should've known better.''

''The spells didn't work,'' he states hoarsely. It's not a question.

She pauses, letting out a quiet sigh. ''No,'' she confirms. ''The spells didn't work.'' She swallows the bitter rage burning in her chest and crawling up her throat. ''Margaret,'' she spits out, the name as putrid as battery acid on her tongue. ''She made sure those spells wouldn't work.''

He frowns. ''You mean she - ''

''She never had any intention of helping my kids,'' Ruby says quietly. ''Tricking me into selling my soul and then giving me spells she had purposefully botched? It wasn't like it was revenge or anything like that. She just didn't want to be alone. She - She knew what she had done to herself. She knew she had sold her soul, she knew what was going to happen to her when her time was up. Margaret knew exactly where she was headed and she knew she didn't want to be alone.''

''But why you?'' He interrupts. ''Why did she have to drag you down with her? Why not her husband or someone close to her? You said yourself; she hadn't seen you in years. Why did she choose you?''

She shrugs. That is probably a question she will never get a straight answer to. ''Because I was her favourite punching bag?'' She suggests. ''Because I was a gullible little slip of a thing?'' A calm, fake smile spreads out over her lips and she meets his eyes, head tilted to the side. ''Because it was fate.''

He scowls, shaking his head adamantly. ''I don't believe in fate.''

She licks her hips. ''To each their own, I suppose. You don't have to believe in it, Dean, but it's still going to be there. We all have our fate. Maybe there was no real reason why Margaret chose to drag me down to Hell with her. Maybe it was just fated. In the cards, so to speak. _Scripted._ After all, if all of that had never happened, I wouldn't be here with you, now would I?''

''We make our own fate, Ruby.''

She smiles dimly. ''Maybe.''

He sighs. ''Get back to the story.''

She leans back against the couch. ''Right. The story.'' Except it's not just a story, you know. It's not just a fable or a fictional horror story. This is her life she's telling him. She thinks, as she studies him closely, that he better damn well know that. ''The spells Margaret gave me,'' she begins again, recounting the days back when she was young and fragile and scared. ''I did them over and over and over again, and for awhile there, I even thought they had worked. But all they really did was give the kids a little more time. For about three weeks, they seemed fine. They were getting better, they were laughing and smiling. I thought it was a miracle. But then one day... One day, Cece collapsed and the next day, so did Matthew. And just like that I was right back where I started. The disease was back and it was...it was almost like it was angry. After that it happened very fast. Matthew and Cecily languished and then they died. I couldn't stop it.'' She has to stop to take a few breaths, desperately trying to make the air reach her lungs. There are a million memories flashing behind her eyelids like the world's worst home moves and she's starting to feel a little lightheaded so she squeezes her eyes shut and focuses on breathing.

But then she feels Dean's fingers on her neck. He brushes hair away from her neck with an uncharacteristic gentleness, his coarse hands touch her neck softly, and then he stands and drifts away from her aimlessly. She opens her eyes, staring up at him steadily. ''I'm sorry,'' he finally says quietly. ''I... I'm just sorry.''

She lowers her head. ''Wait until we get to the next part,'' she smirks weakly. ''It's got hellfire and everything.''

.

.

.

Lisa will admit that she misses Dean.

She'll own up to that fact. She has lonely nights where she misses him sleeping beside her, and that strange sense of peace and safety that his presence gave her. She has lonely mornings where she misses his lips pressed against her cheek, the scratch of early morning stubble an oddly pleasant wake up call to go along with the rich coffee he made and the hearty breakfasts he cooked. (She is sure that nobody out there expects him to be much of a cook, but boy can that man ever cook.) And she has lonely in between where she misses everything and nothing at the same time and all she wants to do is lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling Dean used to stare at.

She tries to liken Dean and their relationship to many things. He was like a birthday card, so pretty to look at, but eventually you have to throw the card away lest it clutter up your home. Their relationship was like a delicious, earthy, aromatic, so good cup of coffee. You savor every sip but before you know it, it's gone. They were a song that ended, a movie without a sequel, they were the first car you ever owned; the one you never wanted to give up. He's a song, a prayer, a bird, a soldier. He's an asshole, a deadbeat, a cheating bastard, a loser.

He is a lot of things.

But eventually, she realizes that these metaphors are useless and tacky and what she really needs is to get back out there in the dating world. There are a lot of stages to heartbreak and she's been going through them like a good girl, waiting the pain out. Eventually, she comes to the conclusion that he is not a bird or a prayer and he is not an asshole. He is a good man who simply belongs to someone else's heart. It's incredibly unfortunate and it stings rather painfully, but what can she do about it?

Well, that's fine.

She's okay. She'll _be_ okay. Her father always told her she was the strongest one in the family.

A tragic and deeply flawed man cannot take that away from her. He can break her heart into a million little pieces and then stomp on the pieces, but he can't break her strength.

Until.

One day, she comes home with a load of groceries, hastily grabs the mail from the mail box, and tells Ben to go upstairs and wash his hands so he can help her with dinner. That's what she misses the most. The help. While she's unloading the groceries, something catches her eye in the pile of mail. She quickly puts the head of lettuce in the sink for later and wipes her hands on her jeans nervously before she snatches up the envelope, glancing over her shoulder out of instinct as if she expects one of her neighbors to be pressing their nose up against her kitchen window. She knows what it is as soon as she plucks it out of bills and junk mail. She recognizes that return address. She knows that company logo.

She sinks heavily into a nearby chair, feeling as if she has been socked in the gut. _Okay, Braeden_ , she tells herself. _This is it. Moment of truth._ Teeth sinking into her lower lip, she looks at the staircase and then her shaking fingers clumsily rip open the envelope and pull out the piece of paper inside. It feels way too thin and flimsy to be as life changing as it is. It should be on thick cardstock. It should be a big, huge stack of papers that explain all of the questions she doesn't know the answer to. It should be more than one stupid piece of paper, all typed up, neat and formal, so clean you could tie a ribbon around it. This holds people's lives in its palm. It should be more.

Breathing slowly through her mouth, Lisa squeezes her eyes shut and slowly unfolds the piece of paper.

...And then she promptly chickens out. Letting out a breath, she folds up the paper and opens her eyes. It's not that she's trying to delay the inevitable, really it's not. She just thinks this is possibly something Ben and Dean ought to be here for. With a slow shake of her head, she swallows hard and slides off her chair. ''Ben!'' She calls up the stairs. ''I think you'd better hurry up and get down here! There's something you need to see.''

.

.

.

''So,'' Dean says.

''So,'' Ruby parrots.

A smirk pulls at her lips. ''Hell,'' he elaborates. ''That's the next part, right?''

The small smirk drops off her lips and she squirms uncomfortable on the couch, licking her lips. ''Uh,'' she clears her throat and gets to her feet, scratching the back of her hand absently like she can still feel the meat hooks poking through the palm of her hand. ''Yeah. Yeah, Hell's next.'' She whirls around to face him. ''Did you know Hell's made up of a bunch of factions?'' She asks. ''Once you've been there long enough, it's more like one giant evil corporate firm.''

''How long did you last before you gave in?'' He asks suddenly, staring up at her curiously.

Yep. She knew that one was coming. ''Does it matter?'' She retorts softly. ''What's done is done.''

''It matters,'' he fights, standing and taking a small step towards her. ''Just tell me how long.''

She hesitates. This is yet another reason why she has avoided telling this story. Dean has been out of The Pit for years now and she can tell he's trying so hard to heal, but sometimes she'll look at him and she'll swear up and down that some part of him is still there. Back in Hell with scalpels and syringes. ''How long was it for you?'' She asks at last, tilting her head to the side.

He purses his lips, and then says plainly, ''Thirty years.''

She wrestles away a grimace and strongly considers lying, looking away from him quickly.

He smirks humorlessly. ''So it was more then?''

''Dean - ''

''Look, Ruby, it's not - ''

''Hey!'' She stomps over to him, gives him her best glare, and pokes him on the chest. ''This story isn't about you!'' She shouts, poking him again. ''For once the monologues and exposition isn't about you. Does that bother you, Dean? Does that bruise your fragile ego, because if that's the problem then I'm sorry but - ''

''Honey - ''

''Sixy five years, okay?!'' She blurts it out in a high pitched yelp, throwing her hands up in the air and dreading the way his face will crumble. She pushes past him before she can see it. ''Oh,'' she throws a sour look over his shoulder but can't bring herself to meet his eyes. ''And don't call me honey.'' With a heavy sigh, she clasps her hands and slowly turns around to face him simply because she is all too aware that she cannot avoid him forever. ''You need to understand something, Dean,'' she tells his big puppy dog eyes. ''I didn't last sixty five years because I was stronger than you. I just had more hate.'' She says it very plainly. Matter-of-factly. It's a fact. A fact that still manages to fill her with shame, but a fact all the same. ''Despite your many, many flaws - ''

''Thanks for that.''

'' - You're a good man with a big heart and you don't actually have that much pure, raw hatred in you. Kudos on that, by the way.''

He doesn't say anything, dropping his gaze to the floor. He looks like a sheepish little boy right now.

She rolls her eyes. She doesn't have the time for that right now. ''I spent twenty one years bottling up everything like I was saving it for a rainy day. You didn't. It's not a bad thing. It doesn't make you less.'' She expects him to look all downtrodden when he looks up at her, wounded pride stinging, wounded ego throbbing.

Instead, when he looks up at her and cocks his head to the side, she gets a chilling look at what he must have looked like in Hell. His eyes are sharp and narrowed, the thin line of his mouth is all control and thinly veiled rage, and his nostrils are flared in anger. ''I was good with a scalpel,'' he says, perfectly calm and casual. For a brief and startling second, he almost looks like he's proud of that. But, as quick as it came, it's gone, and something washes over him like sanity, returning his big eyes and his slow, calculated breaths. ''What was your specialty?''

With matching intensity, she curls her lips into a sneer and crosses her arms. ''My specialty wasn't physical torture, Dean,'' she drawls. ''Like I said before, Hell is made up entirely of factions. I was part of an entirely different one. Why do you think we never crossed paths? Now,'' she falls back onto the couch and throws one leg over the other. ''Can we get back to my fucking story now? You're the one that wanted to hear it.''

He puts his hands on his hips, stares at her for a moment with a fondness in his eyes that she is not equipped to deal with at the moment, and then takes a seat in the chair across from her. ''Go ahead,'' he tells her slowly.

She lets out a breath. ''Okay.'' She rubs at her temples, trying to sort through all of the memories of Hell. Hell is not something she likes to talk about. Or think about. Or acknowledge in any way, shape, or form. So she's just going to do her best to strip this part down to the bare necessities. No use in fleshing out something that does not need to be fleshed out. ''For a few years, I was alone in Hell because Margaret didn't die until a few years later. And while I'm sure she leapt at the chance to torture people, I didn't. I was on the rack for sixty five years, I tortured people - including Margaret - for about twenty years, and then I ran.''

There is no way to describe the shock that spreads over his face when she makes that admission. ''You - You ran?'' He lets out a half hearted laugh. ''You can't run in Hell.''

''Sure you can,'' she throws back easily. ''You just have to know the way. More importantly, you have to know people who know the way. And who did I know in Hell who would be willing to help me become a fugitive?''

Dean rubs at his forehead. ''Josef.''

She snaps her fingers. ''Give the boy a prize,'' she whispers, eyes twinkling. She lifts a shoulder in a half shrug, adjusting her mask of smirks with care. ''So that's how I spent my time in Hell. I became a fugitive. Josef got me started, but then he disappeared, so I spent hundreds of years on the run, looking for Josef, watching other people like me find their way out, and then the Devil's Gate opened up and I got out. But Margaret...'' She twitches. ''Hey, did you know this was what I looked like when I was human? I mean, not exactly, but pretty close. My hair's a little shorter and a little lighter, my teeth are a little straighter and whiter, body's a little less anorexic, but yeah. This is me. It's because this body is a descendant of Josef's daughter Alice. The body was a half dead, strung out junkie so I just thought I'd - ''

Gaping, Dean interrupts her with a deadpan of, ''You're stalling.''

''Am not, and I resent the implication.''

He stares at her, unblinking, jaw clenched.

She caves. It's not all around surprising that she caves so fast. There's just something about Dean that makes all of her resolve crumble. She really kinda hates that. ''Okay,'' she starts with a pathetic sounding sigh. ''Look. I may have spent all my time in Hell running from everything it was and everything it would have turned me into, but...'' She rakes a hand through her hair. ''Margaret didn't,'' she deadpans at last. ''She treated Hell like it was her career. She may have been a psychopath, but she was a very driven psychopath. She knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it. In Hell, what she wanted was to be at the top of the pyramid. Eventually, she worked her way up to Lilith and that's how she met Crowley. To her, he was her ticket out, so she seduced him and became his go to groupie. Unfortunately for her, I got out first.'' Ruby actually smiles at that, some sort of sick satisfaction creeping into her body. Margaret took a lot of things away from her, but she never took the past away.

Ruby was the one who got out first. It's a minor detail really. An unimportant part of the story. It shouldn't be as oddly comforting as it is. But it makes her feel like she's better somehow. Faster. More clever. Ruby would trade a lot of things, but she's not willing to trade that. ''Margaret was livid about that,'' she goes on. ''I mean, she was seriously pissed off. I was told she pitched the bitchiest of bitch fits. As time went by, she managed to manipulate Lilith - ''

''She manipulated _Lilith_?''

''Oh, please. Lilith was a moron, Dean. Come on. Of course she did. She manipulated Lilith into banishing me back to Hell and she fucked Crowley into helping her escape. She told him - She _promised_ him that they were going to do great things together. That she was going to help him take over Hell.''

''But she didn't,'' he guesses.

''No,'' Ruby laughs. ''She didn't. She was lying. That was what she did best, after all. As soon as she was topside, she body snatched coma girl and left Crowley in the dust. I'm sure you can guess where she went after that.'' She can't help the sneer that crosses her face when he winces. Perhaps she is still a little bitter about the identity theft. ''When he finally caught up to her, she told him that what she was doing...pretending to be me...pretending to be on your side... She told him that it was all part of her plan. And Crowley, the foolish bastard, believed her.''

''Why?'' He asks abruptly, a bright fire lit in his eyes. ''I know he ain't the brightest bulb on the chandelier, but why the fuck would he ever believe a word that came out of her mouth?''

''I don't know, Dean. Why would you?''

''Ouch.''

Again, she laughs, shaking her head at him. When she looks up at him and spots the genuine confusion in his eyes, she does her best to sober, clearing her throat. Has he really not figured it out yet? ''Dean, he loved her,'' she tells him softly. ''He was _in_ love with her. She had him so far gone he would've believed anything she told him. I mean, hey, it's a piss poor excuse but it's an excuse all the same. Love,'' she scoffs and leans back against the couch. ''It makes you stupid.'' She pauses and then adds, just loud enough for him to hear, ''It makes you crazy.'' There's a too long silence that gets under her bones and she can't stand it. ''Anyway. Her plan went south when she started developing actual feelings for your brother - ''

''She what?''

''And when Crowley figured out that she was falling in love with Sam - ''

''Again: _What_?''

'' - He left her. Not long after, you killed her. But Crowley, scorned, bitter and grieving, wanted revenge. So he waited. And waited. And when Sam took the swan dive, he took his chance. He tore Sam out of the cage and yanked him out of Hell with all his memories intact because he wanted Sam to suffer for stealing Margaret from him.''

Dean grinds his teeth together and looks out the living room window. ''And you?'' He asks, after a moment of deep breathing. ''Where do you fit in?''

''Me?'' She shrugs. ''I'm the play toy.'' She says it so tonelessly, like it doesn't matter, like it doesn't mean anything. But when her hands start to shake, she curls them into fists and tries to breathe evenly. ''Even Crowley doesn't have the power to bring back a slain demon. He does, however, have the power to bring back a banished demon, and since I was the closest thing he could get to Margaret, he took me. He could never control Margaret,'' she whispers. ''But he can control me. He says I'm paying for Margaret's sins. Plus, he needed leverage. He knew it was only a matter of time before you figured out you were the one who brought Sam back and he knew you were going to want to kill him for it. So he got his pet witch to cast a spell that linked us together. If Crowley gets so much as a paper cut, I'll feel it.'' She licks her dry lips and looks down at her hands. ''So there you go,'' she murmurs. ''There's my story. There's everything. All of the things I lived through and all of the little details that have been drilled into my head by Crowley.''

Suddenly feeling lightheaded, as if releasing all of her secrets has robbed her of vital nutrients, she practically jumps to her feet. ''I need a drink,'' she declares, brushing past Dean without looking at him. She finds her way over to Josef's fully stocked liquor cabinet and grabs the first bottle she sees, twisting off the top like an expert and pouring it into a glass with only a semi-shaking hand. Before she can tilt the glass to her lips, a hand reaches out and snatches it away from her. She sends Dean a dirty look and pours herself another glass, watching him down the liquor without so much as a grimace.

''And what about him?'' He asks. ''If you get hurt, can he feel it?''

''No.'' She pours him another glass. ''He made sure the witch blocked that part of the spell.'' While she is still sipping at her first drink, savoring the burn, Dean has already downed two. When he goes for another, hand inching towards the bottle of scotch, she intercepts, stealing his glass from his hand and giving him a warning look.

''We can break the spell,'' he promises her broadly. ''We'll break the spell and then we'll take him out.''

She shakes her head sadly. ''It doesn't work that way, Dean. This isn't a spell that can be broken. It's a spell that has to run its course. Death is the only way to stop it.''

''You're wrong.''

''I'm not wrong. You're just stubborn,'' she states calmly, _confidently._ Catching sight of the vaguely destroyed look in his eyes, she steps forwards to lay a hand on his arm. He flinches and locks eyes with her, looking well past frustrated. The eye contact feels just like it used to - tingles and shivers and electricity in her fingers and her toes and her spine and her heart. But it only lasts a moment before he rips his gaze away from her and shakes off her hand.

''No. _No,_ this isn't... This isn't you,'' he spits out at her, narrowing his eyes. ''You told me that story - You told me everything about you just because I _asked._  You never would've done that before. You would've told me to go screw myself. To figure it out myself. The only reason you're telling me all this is because you're giving up.'' He waves his arms wildly in a frustrated gesture. ''You're just - You're giving up! You're waiting to die. You've got yourself so convinced that no one can help you that you've just laid down on the fucking train tracks and that is _not_ the Ruby I know.'' He glares at her, the look in his eyes stuck somewhere between devastation and disgust. ''Are you that ready to die, Ruby?'' He questions her, voice low, so low she can hardly hear him. ''Are you that determined to leave it all behind?''

Anger flares in her chest. It feels like someone has poked her with a white hot iron poker. She slams her glass down on the table and alcohol sloshes over the edge. The truth is she has tried so hard to ready herself for death so she won't be afraid when the time comes. But even demons are afraid of dying and there is nothing anyone can do to get ready for death. ''You think I wanted this?'' She snarls at him. ''You think I _want_ to die, Dean? Well, that shows how much you know, you good for nothing jackass! You Winchester men, always thinking you know it all. You know nothing. Nobody wants to die. You know what I want? You know what I really want, Dean? I want clothes without holes or rips or bloodstains and an apartment without cockroaches. I want to wake up in the morning to the sound of someone in the shower or in the kitchen. I want to wake up to the smell of pancakes and bacon. I want to wake up in the mornings. I want to _keep_ waking up. I don't want to wake up alone anymore. And you - '' she goes forwards further, pushing at his chest and if her eyes water and her vision blurs, she'll tell you it's from the heat of the moment or because she has something in her eye, not because she's crying. ''You told me all of the things you want and _God,_ I want those things too. So much. And I love that you know I like bad horror movies and that I know that you know every line of dialogue from the Die Hard movies, and I'd love to know more. I'd love to know _everything._ And I want to be with you so bad because...because...'' Her throat closes up. She can't get the words out. ''Because I look at you and I know. I just _know._ Like Joe did with Adele. Like he told me I would. _I know_. But we don't get that. We will _never_ get that. And you're an idiot if you think that we could ever...''

Her shoulders slump in exhaustion and all she can think about doing right now is locking herself away and sobbing for days, which frankly, she just doesn't have the time or the patience for. ''Don't you understand that? We don't get happy endings. We don't get fairytales. All we get... _This_ is all we get. Maybe it's about time you accepted that.''

Apparently, he doesn't think so.

Instead of letting her go, Dean strides forwards with dark eyes, grabs a hold of her upper arms and kisses her soundly even though she has tears in her mouth and on her cheeks.

There are many reasons to pull away.

She can't remember any of them.

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_''The way you slam your body into mine reminds me_  
_I'm alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling,_  
_and they're only a few steps behind you.''_  
**\- snow and dirty rain**


	16. Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

_I will come back from the dead for you_

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_''I said kiss me here and here and here  
_ _and you did''_   
**\- I had a dream about you**

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_Her lips twist into a pained grimace as she lightly touches the inflamed skin around the gash on her forehead, trying her hardest to resist the strongest temptation to itch it. The blood has dried and clotted by now, and every once and awhile there will be a dull throb of aggravating pain, but it's really the itchiness that's really pissing her off. It's a mild, mostly superficial injury, but it is goddamn irritating and she can practically feel her blood pressure rising._

_Then again, perhaps what is really irritating her is the fact that all three of those unfamiliar humans are staring at her like they expect her to lunge at them and rip their innards out. They keep staring at her like that and she just might. She ducks her head briefly, raking a hand through her hair and when she looks up sharply, they're still looking at her. ''Your mommies ever teach you that staring is rude?'' She snaps out lowly. Both the secretary and the deputy look away from her quickly, both looking quite frightened. The other one, the FBI agent who has been chasing after Dean and Sam for Lord knows how long, doesn't even blink. ''Take a picture,'' she growls at him, ''it'll last longer.''_

_His lips curve upwards ever so slightly and he looks away._

_She perches herself on a desk, crossing one leg over the other, eyes scanning the room for a Winchester or two. At least trading barbs will give her something to do. Quickly sensing she is being stared at again, she sighs and gives up on them. They're all hopeless lost causes anyway. Every one of them is going to die if everybody keeps ignoring her suggestions. She lowers her head and presses a finger to her head wound._

_''Hey!'' Somebody kicks at the desk she's sitting on and steps in front of her, casually blocking the world's weakest cavalry from staring at her like she's a fascinating exhibit in a museum. 'Oh, a real live demon. How exciting! Better pray for our lives.' ''Quit pickin' at that,'' Dean barks gruffly._

_She looks up at him, lips pinched together. When she spots the measly little first aid box he has in his hands, her face sours. ''I hope you're not planning on using that on me.''_

_He pulls out a chair, the legs scraping noisily against the floor. Well, at least nobody's staring at her anymore. Now they're all staring at him. They probably think he's gone insane. ''Shut up,'' he says simply, sitting down in front of her. ''It should be cleaned.''_

_She blinks at him, small, amused smirk coming to cover her lips. ''You do remember what I am, don't you?''_

_''Okay,'' he amends. ''So I need something to do with my hands. Deal with it.''_

_Her eyes darken. ''Let's find a closet then. I'll give you something to do with your hands.''_

_He peers up at her with a full fledged grin on his lips and then he looks back down. When looks back up, he's got a straight face and a wet paper towel in his hands. She rolls her eyes. Back to business then. He stands abruptly, staring down at her as he steps between her legs. ''Hair.'' She pulls her hair back out of her face and he reaches up to wipe away the dried blood. You know, for a guy with such massive hands, he is surprisingly good with them. And yes, there is a euphemism in there; she's just too tired and moody to find it right now. Later, though. It'll be fun. Dean's fingers are very light and gentle when bandaging wounds, it would appear. She's guessing he's had a lot of practice, as macabre as that may sound._

_When he trades the harmless wet paper towel for a disinfectant wipe, however, she rears back and catches his wrist before he can touch her. ''Whoa,'' she warns. ''Hold up. Is that going to sting?''_

_''Probably.'' He wrenches free of her grip and goes for her again. She ducks. ''Ruby,'' he sighs. ''Behave.''_

_''Dean - ''_

_''If you're a good girl,'' he coos, ''I'll give you some candy.''_

_''Don't patronize me.'' She hesitates, tilting her head to the side curiously. ''What kind?'' She successfully makes him laugh and when he moves forward again, she sits still and lets him swab at her wound. She hisses lightly at the sting, teeth sinking into her lower lip. ''I hope you know this is completely unnecessary,'' she grumbles._

_''You know what?'' He says suddenly. ''I have a bone to pick with you, little miss riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.''_

_''Color me shocked,'' she mutters sarcastically._

_''Have you noticed the pattern of hypocrisy in your arguments,'' he says slowly, carefully applying a band aid to her forehead. ''Because I have.''_

_''What big words for such a simple minded man, Dean.''_

_''You continuously lecture us - me, at least - on sacrificing ourselves and acting reckless and yet tonight, you nearly killed yourself just to - ''_

_''Just to save your stupid worthless life?'' She finishes with a smirk. ''Yeah, I know. What was I thinking? I guess you really are that good in bed, huh?''_

_He clenches his jaw. ''I'm not fucking joking, Ruby.''_

_She meets his eyes. ''Neither am I.'' She shrugs carelessly and looks away from him. ''Sorry, Dean, but I'm not just going to sit back and watch you die. Not yet anyway. And newsflash, bucko, you can't tell me what to do. Just like I can't tell you what to do.''_

_''Doesn't stop you from trying.''_

_''No, it doesn't,'' she relents. ''But I don't delude myself into believing you'll actually listen to me. So back off,'' she orders firmly. ''If I want to kill myself to save you I'm gonna do it and you can't stop me.''_

_He looks at her for an uncomfortable amount of time, maintaining eye contact with her. And then, before she has a chance to stop him, he lurches forward and all but bursts her personal bubble, one hand pressed to the desk on either side of her. She works hard not to react. He looks at her for a moment longer, unflinchingly intense, and then he blinks. ''Fine.''_

_''Fine,'' she echoes, leaning back. ''Now get the hell out of my personal space. Your brother is in the next room and your band of misfits is watching us like we're a Days of our Lives supercouple.''_

_He looks over his shoulder, drawing away from her immediately when he catches sight of the eyes on them. He clears his throat, suddenly looking awkward as he flips the first aid kit closed and disposes of the band aid wrappings in a nearby trashcan. ''I'm goin' to check on Sam.''_

_She slides off the desk. ''You owe me candy,'' she tells him quietly. ''And sex,'' she adds on an afterthought. ''But mostly the candy.''_

_''Candy and sex,'' he repeats, sounding utterly exhausted. ''Got it.'' He throws her a tired smirk over his shoulder. ''You're the world's cheapest date.''_

_She pulls herself back onto the desk and sits cross legged, small smile flickering on her lips. ...Which is then abruptly wiped right off her lips when she is struck with the sudden feeling that she is, again, being watched. She looks up and beams at the three on the other side of the room. ''And you,'' she chirps, ''can all fuck right off.'' And then she impatiently fiddles with her carefully applied band aid - while people stare at her, and Dean and Sam discuss their stupid plan in the office - until it falls off._

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Dean wakes up in the morning expecting to be alone. It's not that he has forgotten about last night. Quite the opposite actually. It's just that he knows Ruby. She's a serial runner. He used to have to plead with her to stay the night, which he almost never did because he hated having to beg for something and he hated that he wanted her to stay the night. She's even worse now. He supposes he'd be something of a hypocrite if he judged her habits. For over fifteen years, he had been a runner himself, waking up in the wee hours of the morning to sneak out of a warm bed, leaving behind only a note. Let's face it; at his lowest points, he would've been lucky to remember the person's name in the morning.

Of course, Ruby's issues have always been monumentally different from his. She may be just as damaged and fucked up as he is, but she's damaged and fucked up for different reasons.

It's totally unsurprising when he wakes up alone. The sun is shining through the crack in the curtains, there are birds cheeping peacefully outside, and the spot next to him is empty, rumpled sheets the only sign that she had ever been there. For a moment, he just lies there, rubbing at his tired eyes and trying to swallow the fresh memories of the night before. But then he remembers where he is and that hurt feelings are not the only danger now that she has apparently disappeared. ''Shit.'' Mentally clunking himself over the head, he bolts upright, sheets pooling around his waist. Was this her plan all along? Seduce him and then disappear once he's passed out?

Wouldn't put it past her. She's brilliant and just devious enough to make a plan like that work.

Before he has a chance to hastily tug on his discarded clothes, the bedroom door opens with a soft creak and Ruby tip toes into the room, ceramic coffee mug in each hand. Her blond hair is wet and stringy, falling loosely around her shoulders, and she's clad in only his shirt, bare legs poking out from underneath the too long shirt that covers much more than he'd like it to. His breath catches. At this point in his life he knows that if you've seen someone naked a thousand times and you still have to catch your breath at the sight of their bare legs, it means something. She means something. Of course she does. He's just spent half a year trying to work out what she means and he's come to the conclusion that she's Ruby, and Ruby's...

She's everything.

She stops in her tracks suddenly when she sees he's awake, the coffee in her mug coming dangerously close to spilling over the edge of the cup. ''So.'' She smirks, eyes twinkling. He hadn't realized how much he missed that afterglow twinkle until right now. ''We still know how to do _that_.''

He licks his lips and smirks right back at her. ''Oh, sweetheart,'' he laughs. ''That's not something you ever forget how to do.''

She smiles brilliantly. ''Here. I made coffee.'' She hands him one of the mugs and crawls back into the bed, perching herself on her knees. ''It's about the only thing I can make. I can't cook. At all. You should know that.'' He takes a sip of the piping hot coffee and eyes her as she sips at her own drink, peering at him over the rim of the mug. ''What?'' She pulls the mug away from her lips with another smile. ''Why are you looking at me like that?''

He shrugs and turns to put his coffee on the bedside table, reluctant to take his eyes off of her. ''Just expected you to do the walk of shame, I guess.''

She looks down into the abyss of her coffee cup, inhaling sharply, and then turning to put the cup down.

''For the record,'' he says, leaning forward to cup her cheek. ''I'm glad you didn't.'' He catches her lips in his own softly, kissing her like he's trying to kiss her back to life. She responds eagerly, fingers running through his hair. He thinks that's a good sign. She's kissing him back with fervor and heat and that has to mean something good. She tastes like coffee, rich and heady, and he's thirsty so he deepens the kiss, hands sliding around her waist to pull her body into his to remind him that she's real.

But then she pulls away, catching her breath as he leans her forehead against his. ''Dean...''

He recognizes that tone of voice. It sends his heart dropping and his disappointment soaring. ''Aw, fuck, Ruby,'' he curses breathily. ''Don't give me that shit.'' He draws away from her, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to search for his clothes.

''What shit?'' She questions innocently, slipping off the bed.

''That whole 'we can't be together' shit,'' he clarifies, pulling up his jeans. ''All that crap you've drilled into your own goddamned head,'' he growls out in frustration. ''Just fuck it.''

She crosses the room to get to him, looking desperate. ''Dean - ''

''You told me you wanted to be with me, Ruby,'' he fires at her. ''Last night. You told me - ''

''Yeah, and I also said that we'd never get a happy ending,'' she counters hotly. ''Did you conveniently forget that part?''

He crosses his arms and stares at her. ''Bullshit.''

She rolls her eyes, throwing her hands up in the air. ''What's the point anyway?'' She huffs out, exasperated. ''Look at us, Dean. One night together and we're already fighting.''

''Uh, _yeah_. Have you met us?'' He asks, throwing his arms out. ''That's the way it works with us,'' he informs her, plainly. ''You think there's any other woman out there who'll fight me like you do?'' He laughs because he cannot help it, a loud, deep chuckle ripping free. ''Well, sorry, darlin', there ain't. You're it. You're it and you fucking _know_ it. So can we stop beating around the fucking bush and just try?'' He moves toward her slowly, increasing his speed slightly when she doesn't run away. ''Don't you want to try with me?'' He loops an arm around her waist and tugs her to him, leaning down to kiss her softly. She doesn't pull away, hands running over his chest until she gets to his shoulders. Her nails dig into his skin like she's trying to remind herself that this is real and it is not a dream. He takes it as permission. His lips move to her neck, then to the hollow of her throat, and finally to her collarbone, lips planting sloppy kisses on her skin. She breathes in deeply and lets out something between a whimper and a sigh, arms winding around his neck automatically. ''We could be so happy,'' he tells her, whispering it against her skin. He raises his head to meet her eyes, lips not even inches away from hers. A shaky breath escapes her lips and an emotion he can't identify glistens in her eyes. ''Don't you think we deserve this?'' He asks, voice low. ''Don't you think we've both suffered enough?''

''Everybody in the world suffers,'' she murmurs shakily.

He shakes his head adamantly. ''Not like this. Not like us.''

This time, when he goes in for a kiss, she draws away from him. There's a battle going on in her eyes, conflicted and pained. ''Dean...''

His phone rings.

Relief clouds in her eyes and she steps away from him. His breath catches and his jaw clenches. He's lost her. ''You should get that,'' she says and he can tell it's not a suggestion.

Sluggishly, he fishes his cell phone out of his pocket as it blares classic rock through the room. He's not sure what to think, really, when he looks down at his phone and sees the name _Lisa_ popping up on the glowing screen. He and Lisa may be trying to get along for Ben's sake, but things are still incredibly tense, uncomfortable and awkward between them. After a moment of deliberation, he declines the call. No big deal. He'll call her back in five minutes. He just needs five minutes. ''Ruby,'' he slips the phone back into his pocket and goes toward her once more. ''Listen to me. Please.'' She reluctantly tears her eyes away from the spot next to his head to meet his eyes. ''I'm thirty three years old,'' he says. ''I don't want to fuck around anymore. I'm too tired. All I want...'' He stops right there, licking his lips nervously. ''I don't want to play games with you anymore,'' he tries. ''But I also don't want to be with anyone other than you so you know what?'' He throws his arms out. ''You've got me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here. And I'm still going to be here whenever you're ready. Just...'' He tries to smile, pushing hair out of her eyes and taking her face in his hands gently. ''Please don't make me wait too long.''

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Dean takes a too long shower, lingering under the spray until the water runs cold. Until he forgets about making a fool out of himself. Except he can't forget and the cold water doesn't shock him back to life like had been hoping it would. After too long, he drags himself out of the shower, un-fogs the mirror and fumbles his way through getting dressed, pruned fingers feeling thick like sausages. It's only when his cell phone falls out of his pocket that he remembers Lisa. ''Shit.'' He grabs the phone and scrolls through his contacts until he gets to her name, hesitated for a brief second before hitting the call button.

She picks up on the second ring. _''Where the hell have you been?!''_ She screeches wildly. _''I've been calling you since last night! I thought you were dead!''_

''Sorry.'' He rubs his forehead and tries not to sigh. ''I guess I got caught up in something.'' Yeah. Right. Caught up in something. That's one way of putting it. ''What do you need? Is everything okay? Is Ben all right?''

_''The test results came back,''_ she says bluntly.

His breath gets lost somewhere in his throat where he can't find it and he has to lean back against the sink, suddenly feeling unnervingly off balance. ''And?''

_''And...''_ Her voice wavers. He's pretty sure she's about thirty seconds away from crying. _''Ben is officially fifty percent Winchester.''_ This time, her voice cracks openly and he's convinced she's crying. He doesn't like that he can't tell whether or not they're happy tears. _''He's yours. He's always been yours.''_

There's a small disbelieving smile growing larger on his lips and a swell of pride in his gut. He doesn't think that there was ever a part of him that truly believed he would ever get here. He has a son. Don't get him wrong, Ben was always going to be his son, regardless of what the test results said, but there is something different about having someone else _tell_ you're a dad that's just indescribable. ''Lise, that's - '' He breaks off in a shaky laugh. ''That's great. Is he there?''

She sniffles. _''Y-Yeah. He's right here. Hold on.''_

There's a pause and a rustle and her voice says something softly that he can't quite make out. Ben's voice echoes over the line, sounding nervous and trembling with excitement. _''Hey. De - ''_ He stops suddenly and there's a sharp intake of breath. _''Dad?''_

Another laugh bursts out; feeling like it's coming right from his chest, directly from his heart. Dean has to blink. ''Ben,'' he rasps. ''Hi, buddy...''

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Ruby falls back on the couch, chewing on her thumbnail anxiously. What the hell is she supposed to do now? With a groan, she leans forward to put her head between her knees. See, this is why she was so adamant on keeping her distance from Dean. When she's close to him, all these feelings bubble and boil to the surface and it makes it that much harder to accept what she will eventually have to bring herself to do. She huffs out a sigh, raises her head and is convinced she has a small heart attack. Or maybe a stroke of some sort.

Castiel is sitting across from her, looking far less calm than he usually does, eyes trained down the hallway.

''Jesus, Cas,'' she grits out, hand over her heart. ''A little warning next time.''

''We need to talk.'' He brings his eyes to hers. ''We don't have much time.''

Fear shoots through her at the tone of his voice. Granted most of his tones are largely the same, but this is different. She can tell something is wrong. She goes over a list of things Crowley could have done, lands on a few horrifying scenarios and can't breathe.

Castiel leans towards her. ''Josef never made it back to Bobby's last night.''

Panic pulses through every part of her, paralyzing her and she thinks she's going to throw up. ''No.''

''Yes.''

She shakes her head. ''No.''

''Ruby - ''

She stands abruptly, swallowing the bile creeping up the back of her throat. ''Oh, god. Oh my god.'' Both of her hands fly to her mouth as tears spring to her eyes and her body begins to shake. ''Not him, he can't have him.''

''Ruby.'' In the span of time it takes to blink, he's right in front of her with his steadying hands on her shoulders, staring into her eyes like he's trying to keep her grounded. ''I know you...'' He pauses as if searching for a delicate way to put his next words. ''I know you were hesitant to agree with my plan of attack.'' She looks up at him through a veil of unshed tears. ''But I'm afraid we no longer have a choice. If you want to destroy Crowley, you have to come with me.''

She breathes in deeply and turns to look down the hall. Castiel's master plan has always been the last resort plan. But with all of these complications - Dean, being locked up in a tower like Sleeping Beauty, Dean, the fact that everybody knows everything now so there's no more element of surprise and no going off on her own, _Dean_ \- she's thinking it might be the only way to go. When she whirls back around to face Castiel, he's not looking at her, eyes once again roaming the hallway, searching out Dean. There's a light in his eyes and his lips are pinched. Poor guy looks positively lovelorn.

Guess they have a lot more in common than one would think.

''Dean will be angry with me,'' he murmurs, and it sounds like he's talking more to himself than to her. ''He'll be angry with both of us.'' His sharp eyes turn back to her, burning right through her. ''But this is what's right. I think we both know that.''

She bites her lip. There is a reason why she has avoided Castiel's grand plan so far. It is a deceitful plan, the path toward it chock full of broken hearts and trampled egos. She knows Winchester boys. She knows how fragile their hearts are, no matter how strong they pretend to be. If she goes along with this plan, there is a good chance neither of them will ever forgive her for it. They won't forgive Cas. And Cas needs them more than she does. But Crowley is a real threat. He'll kill them the first chance he gets. He'll slash their throats open and deliver their entrails to her. This is a chance she has to take, however difficult and however painful the consequences may be.

He holds a hand out to her and says, ''Take it. Quick.''

She's run out of other options.

It's one more glance in the direction of the bedroom, the rumpled sheets, the shower water, the shirt of Dean's that smells like him, and then she takes his hand and that's it.

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Lisa hasn't seen her son this happy in far too long. Ben is walking around the house like he's walking on air, spending his Saturday in a distant haze of contentment. Happiness. His good mood is contagious, washing over her and making her smile genuinely for the first time in a long time. This is the end result he's been hoping for for years now. Ever since he was eight years old. The first few weeks after Ben met Dean, he was all the boy would talk about.

''Do you think he'll come back to see me one day?''

''You know, Mom, I think he liked you.''

''He was _sooo_ cool. I'm gonna be just like him when I grow up.''

''Did you see his car?''

When Dean showed up on their doorstep a few years later, broken down and destroyed, Ben was the one who convinced her to take him in like a stray puppy, letting her into her house and her life and her bed and straight into her heart. It was all for Ben. And maybe, she thinks, that should have been a sign. Ben worships Dean, idolizes the ground he walks on, adores the air he breathes. It's only natural that his response to the test results is complete unrestrained joy, reminiscent of a little boy opening up his presents on Christmas morning.

But Lisa...

Truthfully, she's not too sure what to do with this. She's not unhappy, let her make that clear right now. Some part of her has always known it would end like this. But it is still a little raw. For the rest of her life, she's going to be stuck with Dean Winchester and that wouldn't be a problem except that she's still a little in love with Dean Winchester and he's still unchangeably devoted to Ruby. She goes back and forth throughout the day, trying to work it all out in her head like it's a crossword puzzle. Like it's an equation.

They're going to have to work out some sort of arrangement. Is Ben going to go back and forth or is Dean just going to want to visit? Is it dangerous to officially be a Winchester? It sure seems like it is. It's a lot to take in. But Ben's gloriously gleeful, so she'll work through it.

Distracted by the puzzles and lists she's writing for herself in her head, she doesn't notice the signs.

Lisa stifles a yawn due to the lack of sleep she got the previous night, spending half the night worrying about Dean and the other half tossing and turning, as she trudges into her son's pigsty of a room. She hefts the laundry basket onto the unmade bed and looks around the messy room helplessly. Her son's room is a disaster, clothes strewn everywhere. It is nearly impossible to tell what is clean and what is not. Business as usual then. She grumbles unhappily under her breath and begins to pluck each article of clothing from the floor. Her son has entered the teenage boy stage of cleanliness and he's not even a teenager yet.

What is _that_ about?

She steps over a stack of CDs to retrieve a jacket draped over his computer chair. The light on the bedside table flickers behind her. On and off, on and off. The light bounces off the wall in front of her and she whirls around to stare at the offending object. Flickering lights. Dean warned her about flickering lights. She tosses the jacket carelessly onto the bed and moves over to the light, heart suddenly beating a mile a minute. It's probably nothing. She leans down to search for a logical explanation for the flicker and as she's reaching out to touch it, it turns on once more. Startled, she lets out a gasp and recoils, stumbling back. She stumbles right into an unfamiliar broad chest. She turns around slowly, fear bleeding into her bones.

There is a man standing in front of her, a stranger, draped in black and smiling at her like they're old friends. ''Hello,'' he greets her calmly, crisp accent dripping with something that sends a chill running up and down her spine. ''You must be Lisa.''

She never even gets the chance to scream.

Two strong hands grab her from behind and pull her kicking and screaming into a body. A hand covers her mouth, the scratch of an old and dirty rag itching at her skin, strong chemical smell entering her system. She kicks and claws the best she can, letting out muffled screams that no one will hear. And then she abruptly realizes what that smell is. _Chloroform._ The adrenaline burst is no match for the smell of chemicals that burns her nostrils and she coughs and gags and tries to get away, but it's no use. She's too tired.

The last thing she thinks before she loses her fight, body going limp in her captor's arms, is _Ben._

.

.

.

_''What do you mean you lost her?!''_

Biting back an extremely nasty and unnecessary response to that, Dean simultaneously shrugs into his jacket and keeps his cell held to his ear. ''What do I mean?'' He echoes incredulously. ''What do you think I mean, Sam? I mean, I lost Ruby. I actually physically lost her. She's gone. I've checked everywhere.'' He throws open the front door and sprints out onto the porch, looking left and right as if he expects her to be hiding underneath the picturesque porch swing or inside the flower pot on the front steps.

_''How is that even possible? Didn't you - ''_

''Yes,'' he barks out impatiently. ''I put Devil's Traps under the mats while she was sleeping and I lined the windows with salt. I guess she must have - I don't know, Sam! We're wasting time! It doesn't matter how she got out, she just did! Now we have to find her!'' He jogs down the steps, searching his pockets for his car keys. ''Fucking crazy bitch,'' he snarls. ''I swear, if she isn't dead, I'm gonna kill her.'' The gravel crunches under her boots as he makes his way to his car, body clenched tightly in anger.

_''It's Crowley. It has to be. He got Josef and now he's - He's planning something big, Dean.''_

''Yeah? Well, we better fuckin' gank him before he goes through with whatever he's planning on doing then. Look, I'm comin' to you, Sammy. We gotta find her, all right? Call Cas and get him to - ''

_THWACK!_

There's an explosion of bright lights behind his eyelids and he falls forward, phone slipping from his grasp.

He's out before he even hits the ground.

.

.

.

_''Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don't make a noise,_   
_don't leave the room until I come back from the dead for you._   
_I will come back from the dead for you.''_   
**\- you are jeff**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback from the beginning of this chapter was a missing scene from the season three episode ''Jus In Bello.''


	17. Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

_and you were crying_

.

.

.

_''The wind blows and it makes a noise. Pain makes a noise. We bang on the pipes and it makes a noise. Was there no one else?_   
_His hands keep turning into birds, and his hands keep flying away from him._   
_Eventually the birds must land.''_   
**\- unfinished duet**

.

.

.

He remembers it all as soon as he comes to. It's fuzzy at first, bits and pieces, flashes of memories shrouded in fog and the white hot agony that exploded behind his eyes like those fireworks from that one Fourth of July in 1996 in the field with Sammy. But then things begin to clear and he _remembers_. He remembers everything. Awesome. Probably no brain damage then. That's a plus.

Crowley.

It was fucking Crowley. Had to be. Payback for that whole trying to bash his head in with a crowbar thing. It's almost poetic if you think about it.

As he drifts further back into consciousness, Dean suddenly becomes aware that he is lying on something soft and warm and there are gentle fingertips brushing across his forehead and his cheeks. ''Ssshh, Dean,'' a voice hums out soothingly. ''Take it easy.''

''Ruby?'' He slurs out, mouth moving strangely and sluggishly like it can't keep up with his brain. His hand wraps around the wrist of the person holding him and she gasps. Her name falls through his lips before he can stop it, like an instinct, an urge, a craving. ''Ruby.'' Literally as soon as he says it, he realizes that the wrist he's holding is incredibly familiar and very much feminine, but it's not so much Ruby. Oh. Shit. Is this awkward? It feels a little awkward. His eyes blink open slowly and a face swarms into his line of vision, clearing up almost immediately and he raises his eyebrows in surprise. ''Lise?''

Lisa smiles down at him weakly. ''Hi.''

He grunts in discomfort and lifts his head from her lap, sitting up slowly. ''Son of a bitch.''

''Easy,'' Lisa warns, hand still resting on his arm as he reaches around to feel the back of his head with a pained intake of breath.

There's no blood. That's a good sign. There is, however, a nasty goose egg forming and his head is killing him, a light wave of nausea sweeping over him when he sits up. But it's minimal and manageable and he at least remembers what happened and what day it is so he probably doesn't have a concussion. At least not a major one. ''I'm fine,'' he murmurs. ''I'm good.'' Shaking his head slightly in an attempt to focus, he shifts his attention to the three other people with him, all blinking at him expectantly, and his heart drops into his already nauseated stomach.

They're in what looks eerily like an old jail cell in a darkened building with crumbling bricks and un-amazing structure. Josef is leaning against the metal bars, arms crossed, looking none too pleased. Ben is slumped on the ground, jaw tightened. And Lisa is still staring at him like she's afraid he's got some awful brain damage-y stuff going on.

''Yep,'' Josef drawls, humorless smirk twisting onto his lips. '' _Oh shit_ is right.''

Dean gets to his feet slowly, hand still on the back of his head. ''Where the hell are we?''

''Crumbling old police station in a ghost town,'' Josef replies plainly. When he catches the wide-eyed look Ben is throwing him, he sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. ''Not literally a _ghost_ town, kid. An abandoned town.''

''But _why_ is it abandoned?'' Ben presses.

Josef clears his throat and shifts from foot to foot. ''Okay, then it's a demon town,'' he corrects. ''If you want to get technical. During the apocalypse, demons would take over small towns to try and impress Lucifer. It was a thing.''

Ben stares at him. ''There was no part of that sentence that was comforting.''

''Wasn't meant to be comforting.''

''Well, good job on that!''

''Okay!'' Dean pulls Ben back to him, keeping his hands on the boy's shoulders, squeezing gently. ''Everybody take deep breaths,'' he says, although his attention is mostly focused on Ben. Time to assess the current situation. He's in a metal cage, the only window is barred and the structure is crumbling around them. Good news is they might not die by Crowley's hand. The building might collapse on them first. They're fucked. ''Are you guys okay?'' He steers Ben back to Lisa, looking them both over for visible injuries. ''Everybody's got ten fingers and ten toes? Nobody's maimed or possessed? Or maimed _and_ possessed?''

Lisa and Ben look at each other. Lisa looks utterly exhausted in the dirty light spilling into the room. Ben just looks anxious. ''We're good,'' Lisa finally says.

Dean looks to Ben for confirmation. ''Yeah?''

Ben nods. ''I'm okay.''

''If they were possessed,'' Josef pipes up from behind Dean. ''They wouldn't admit it just because you asked.''

Dean grinds his teeth together. ''Fine,'' he grits out. ''Christo.''

Lisa and Ben don't flinch. Josef, on the other hand, smacks his head on the bars when his body twitches involuntarily like he's having a small seizure. He grumbles under his breath, glaring at the back of Dean's head. ''Asshole.''

''Great.'' Abruptly, Dean turns away from Lisa and Ben, eyes scanning the doorway. ''We gotta get you guys out of here.'' In a desperate attempt to use the unstable structure to his advantage, he wraps his hands around one of the iron bars and pulls. It budges about a fraction of an inch, then stops. Other than a little dust falling into his face and intruding his airways, his endeavor is proved to be mostly fruitless.

''Um, I'm fine too,'' Josef mutters. ''Your concern touches me deeply.''

Dean turns his head to glare at the demon and then brushes past him to get to the window. ''You gonna just stand there?'' He asks, climbing up onto the cot to look out the window.

Josef scoffs, says something under his breath that is most definitely an insult of some sort and points to the ceiling. Dean follows his gaze to the Devil's Trap and swallows a frustrated growl. Double awesome. Using the iron bars on the window as leverage, he stands on his tip toes and reaches out to break it. He can't quite reach, no matter how hard he tries. ''Like he would make it that easy,'' Josef snaps. ''Use your head, boy.''

''You don't shut your trap,'' Dean grunts out, still pointlessly trying to reach the Devil's Trap. ''And I'm gonna leave you here to rot.''

And then the iron bar he's holding onto comes loose and he goes crashing to the ground.

Lisa gasps.

Josef laughs.

Ben flicks his gaze to the ceiling and shakes his head.

''Son of a bitch,'' Dean grumbles, heaving himself back to his feet. He frowns deeply when he catches the snicker on Josef's face. ''Hey,'' he waves the iron bar at him, ''the fuck are you smirking at? You're trapped in a demon coffin. Least I can stretch my arms.''

''Okay, so - '' Ben pushes himself in between Dean and Josef, shaking off his mother's arm when she tries to pull him back '' - since no one else is going to address the obvious elephant in the room, I'm just gonna step in.'' He narrows his eyes in confusion. ''Why me and Mom? What do we have to do with any of this? Why did they take us? This isn't our problem. This is because of your girlfriend.'' If Dean detects a twinge of bitterness in his son's voice, and he does, he keeps his mouth shut and sends Josef a warning glare when the man's eyes cloud over like Dean's do when someone talks down to Sam. ''We didn't do anything. So what do they want with us?''

A mighty fine question. One Dean does not have an answer to.

''Fair point,'' Josef concedes. ''They don't have anything to do with anything.'' He appears to think about that for a moment and then he shrugs and waves his hand. ''Eh, why does Crowley do anything these days? Guy's bonkers.''

''Ben,'' Dean says quietly. ''I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You and your mom are going to be out of here in no time. I promise.''

Ben glances around the dungeon like room and doesn't look particularly convinced. Dean can't blame him. He's not even sure if he believes himself.

''Shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Winchester,'' Josef mumbles, looking around the room thoughtfully, hands on his hips. He eyes the window in the cell and frowns curiously, as if he's formulating some genius plan in his head. But then he looks up at the Devil's Trap, huffs, and drops his gaze. ''If I wasn't stuck in this goddamned thing...''

Dean's lips thin in annoyance. It's becoming harder and harder to just shake off the stupid comments Josef continues to throw at him. ''Does anybody, at all, have a plan?'' He looks around at all the other occupants of the room. Lisa and Ben shake their heads, and Josef rolls his eyes. ''All right, well.'' Dean tries not to falter. ''I'm sure Sam's on his way.''

''And if he's not?'' Ben asks quietly. ''What if they got him too?''

There's a beat of silence in which nobody really knows how to respond to that.

''You're a very negative child,'' Josef points out. ''You should work on that.''

Dean shares a look with Lisa, grimaces, and rubs at his sore head.

.

.

.

He should have listened to his gut on this one. It was one rule he should not have broken. Don't work with humans, don't work with humans, _don't work with humans_. Especially not ones who are as maddeningly pathetic as this sorry sad sack. Honestly, this is just an embarrassment.

''I asked you to deliver _everyone_ to me,'' Crowley reminds the meat sack needlessly, circling Samuel Campbell as the old fool holds an ice pack to the back of his idiotic noggin. ''Can you think of two people who might be missing from the equation, dear grandfather?''

Samuel scowls at him, which is really just rude and uncalled for. ''I already told you,'' he snaps back hotly. ''He caught me. I'm lucky I got out of there alive.'' He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. ''Kid's a monster. All hopped up on pills.''

''And whose fault is that?'' Crowley fires back with a long suffering sigh. ''In case you're forgetting, you're the one who supplied him with the drugs.''

''Because you told me to!'' Samuel grunts in pain and presses the ice pack back against his head.

''Oh, I'm sorry,'' Crowley apologizes softly. ''Where are my manners? You've injured yourself because of me. I should be more grateful.'' In a flash, he snatches the ice pack from Samuel's hand and whips it across his face. ''Except now we've got Sam Winchester and Singer coming after us like angry dogs, you idiot!'' For good measure, he grabs the back of Samuel's neck and smashes his ugly mug into the table. While the old man moans in pain, hands automatically coming up to his bleeding nose, Crowley takes in a much needed calming breath and straightens his jacket.

Well, _fine_. A hitch in the plan. It's nothing he can't deal with. Everything always works out for him in the end. He is always a step ahead. Always. Ruby will pay for her sister's sins and maybe if he's lucky enough, he'll be able to take out those two oversized baboons as well.

''What about Ruby?'' Samuel gets out around the blood in his mouth.

''She'll be here.''

''What if she...?''

''What if she what?'' Crowley cuts in patiently. This is precisely why he doesn't work with humans. They're all so bloody stupid. ''What if she wins?'' He laughs. ''That measly little waif of a girl couldn't win a fight against a Doberman. Are you honestly that moronic?'' When Samuel opens his mouth to speak, Crowley holds up a hand. ''Don't answer that.''

''Are you sure you're not underestimating her?''

''There's nothing to underestimate,'' he breezes back. ''Now. Let's discuss your screw up. Sam and Bobby are going to blow down the doors, guns blazing, scowls incredibly prominent. And when they do?'' He leans closer to whisper in Samuel's ear. ''I want you to kill them both. No hesitation. No waiting. Just kill them. Can you do that, Campbell? Kill your own grandson?''

''If I do...'' Samuel stares up at him with cold eyes. ''You'll bring Mary back?''

Crowley grins. ''That's the deal, isn't it?''

The hunter taps his fingers on the table. ''Consider them dead.''

.

.

.

The old rickety stairs creak under his weight as he makes his way down into the dark basement with the stale air. Black eyes scan the darkened room for the source of the mysterious noise and when he spots the dripping pipe, he lets out a slow chuckle of relief and stalks across the floor. Hands on his hips, he stares up at the pipe and shakes his head. Without a single degree of difficulty, he reaches up, wraps his hand around the pipe and pulls. The old pipe breaks free from the concrete and other than a small stream of dirty water that quickly trickles out, his reward is sweet silence. He smiles in victory and drops the pipe.

Then he turns around.

Instantly, he recoils in shock when he's met with the sight of black eyes and blond hair. She smiles at him, eyes slipping back to green. ''Hi!'' She lunges at him and a blade comes down. The knife slides into his shoulder like butter and then she rips it out and slashes his throat for good measure, all before he even has the chance to scream. The body crumples and falls limply to the dirty and wet ground. Satisfied, she wipes the blade of the knife off on her jeans, turning to the stairs.

She makes sure to avoid the creaky step and climbs the stairs, poking her head out into the hall to check for the rest of Crowley's security. When she spots no one, she slinks down the hall and sprints up the stairs. She casts a backwards glance over the balcony and down into the lobby of the old police station on her way to the cells and when she turns back, she slams straight into a big, burly chest. She raises her eyes to the nameless bodyguard and matches his smirk with one of her own.

''Well,'' he drawls, grabbing her by the hair. ''You must be Ruby. It's nice to finally put a face to the name. Crowley talks about you all the time. He'd like to rip your eyeballs out.''

''Yeah?'' She jerks in his grasp uselessly. ''Well, I do have nice eyes.'' Then she shoves the knife into his gut. Wow, these guys are stupid. Crowley should really invest in better demonic goons because these ones are, so far, pathetic and low level. His grip on her hair loosens and he lets out a groan of pain. She twists the knife and waits until the light goes out in his eyes before she pulls it out. Then she has to whirl around to take care of the other one who thinks he can sneak up on her.

This one is slightly more prepared, locking his hand around her wrist when she swings the knife, twisting and twisting until the knife falls to the ground. Her other hand curls into a fist and she smashes it into his nose, grinning gleefully when he grunts in pain. He doesn't appear to enjoy that in the slightest because, in retaliation, he sends a right hook to her face that sends her stumbling. Before she can right herself, he grips her arms tightly and tosses her across the floor like a rag doll. She slides and hits the wall hard, but gets right back up again. He dodges the well aimed kick she tries to get in, but can't hide from the uppercut she throws at his face.

''Don't hit girls,'' she warns him. ''Because they will hit you back.'' Because she's not in the greatest mood, she uses his distraction to her advantage and grabs his shoulders, jamming her knee into his groin. ''And then they'll do that.'' When he falls to his knees, she fully intends to grab the knife and get this over with, but a pair of strong hands grabs her from behind and prevents her from moving and she is getting so fed up with these imbeciles thinking they're better than her. She feels heavy and wet breath on her neck and grimaces, reacting by digging her elbow into the newcomer's gut and flipping him onto his back.

She goes for the knife and grabs it off the ground, standing and turning just in time to stab Blue Balls in the chest. The other one rises to his feet behind her and she whips around, throwing her knife and watching it embed itself right into his neck. Both bodies fall to the ground at the same time and she takes a step back, letting a small, breathless smile wash over her lips as she admires her handiwork.

She grimaces and clicks her tongue in disgust at the sight of the bodies and the blood dripping off her knife. She feels like destruction right now. She had been so sure that feeling wouldn't come back today. She doesn't need to deal with that; she doesn't have the time or the patience.

There is a creaking behind her, the sound of an old door swinging open, and when she turns around, Samuel is standing there, all cocky smirks and smug eyes like he thinks he's the king of everything. ''Ruby,'' he greets her quite merrily, as if they are old friends. She thinks that is so wrong. As if measly little human twerp over there has the right to mock her. She could rip his spinal cord out with her teeth if she wanted to. ''I wasn't sure you'd show.'' He frowns, looks at her, and then lets out a short bark of overly cheery laughter. ''It's because we have Dean, isn't it? I honestly didn't think you cared that much. You are a - ''

''We,'' she repeats, then smiles. ''Oh, Samuel,'' she murmurs softly, shaking her head. ''I really don't have time for this.''

It is, perhaps, the most anti climactic fight sequence in the history of fight sequences. He moves towards her in what she thinks is supposed to be a threatening manner, lunges at her with the coordination of a sloppy drunk, and she pushes him right over the balcony. He emits a strangled yell, there is a sickening thud, and then there is silence. She rushes over to peer over the edge of the balcony, feeling strangely nauseated as she stares down at the body on the ground, leg bent at an odd angle. She doesn't know if he's dead for sure, but she doesn't really want to check. She sucks in a breath and stands straight...

...and then the laughing starts.

It is not just a quick chuckle, either. It is damn near hysterics, loud guffaws that echo through the vast, crumbling space. She whirls around when the sound of clapping joins the laughter, each clap like a gunshot. Crowley is standing a mere five feet away from her, practically bent over in laughter. She doesn't say a word as she watches him put on a show, but her grip on her knife tightens. He straightens eventually, wiping away a tear and struggling to speak through his wheezes. ''Thank you,'' he gasps. ''I needed that.'' And then he promptly breaks off in another peal of laughter. She rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest, waiting impatiently for him to finish. ''I have lived a very long life,'' he says, like this a confession, something he has never admitted until now, ''but that was about the most entertaining thing I have ever seen. Of course, this means I now have to deal with a bug infestation on my own, but that - '' he chuckles one last time and jerks his thumb towards the balcony '' - was worth it. Oh,'' he shakes his head and moves over to her. She has to fight not to stagger away from him. There is already bile rising in her throat just from the sound of his voice. He invades her personal space without a care in the world and brings his hand to her face, brushing hair out of her eyes. He stares down at her with eyes that almost seem warm and affectionate in this light, which just makes her skin crawl. ''You are a handful, aren't you, darling? Just like your sister.''

She jerks away from him and glares. ''Don't compare me to my sister,'' she spits out.

His eyes darken and grow cold and full of rage. His meaty hand clamps around her neck and he drives her back into the wall, catching her wrist and wrestling her knife from her hand. ''Oh, please, kitten. Don't delude yourself into thinking you're any better than her.'' He slips his knee in between her legs and leans in close to her - so close that his lips are inches away from hers and she can feel his hot breath. It smells like blood. ''She was nothing. You are less than nothing. I,'' his lips curl back in a nasty sneer, ''I am a king.'' He lets go of her wrist and his hand snakes to the belt loop on her jeans. His fingers slip and she flinches, face paling as she struggles to keep herself from throwing up. ''I think,'' he purrs, ''it's about time your family learned that.'' All at once, he pulls away, smiles cheerfully and dusts off his coat. ''Now,'' he holds a hand out to her. ''Shall we?''

She doesn't want to.

But she takes his hand anyway.

.

.

.

There is fear on his child's face.

Fear that he will lose his mother, his father, himself; fear that his short life will be extinguished before he even really gets the chance to do anything. Fear that he will go bloody and screaming, that he will have to see things like no boy should ever have to see. Dean hates that his fucked up life is the cause of the fear that is skittering across Ben's face. This was not supposed to happen. Not to Ben. Not ever. Ben was never ever supposed to know what it feels like to be afraid to die. Naturally, because he is a Winchester and because this is just what Winchesters do, Dean takes all of this self hatred and guilt and channels it into something productive. Namely getting Ben and Lisa out of this situation that he has gotten them into.

Despite the headache, he focuses all of his energy on getting them out, working tirelessly at one wiggly iron bar that could be the goddamn catalyst in their escape, if only the fates were on their side. Which, let's be honest: They never are. He is going to get them out of here. He is going to get Ben and Lisa out of this hell hole and to safety and he will never have to think about what he would do if he had to choose between Ben and Ruby.

Speaking of prayer.

Cas isn't answering his fucking Whitelighter call or whatever the fuck. What a shitty time to go AWOL. What's that about?

Basically, these thoughts could all be summed up in one short sentence: Dean is in a dark, dark place right now. So it's really not hard to understand why he snaps like he does.

The air in the musty cell is thick with palpable tension, the peril of this inconvenient life or death situation getting under everyone's skin. Ben is sitting on the ratty old cot, wincing at the bickering from his parents and occasionally muttering AC/DC song lyrics to himself in order to prevent a panic induced asthma attack. Dean is trying to get them out by attempting to pick the ancient lock, and Lisa is trying to help, which leads to unfortunate arguing between the exes. The Peanut Gallery - aka Josef - is not helping at all by making continuous smart ass comments about Dean's competence.

Eventually, after Dean slices open his finger on the rusty lock and is contemplating what it would be like to die from an infected wound, it all becomes too much for him. Cursing and sucking on his injured finger, his facade cracks and the claws come out. Since he doesn't want to unfairly take his anger out on Lisa and he will not take it out on Ben, Josef becomes his brand new punching bag. Dean doesn't think he will be losing sleep over it.

He turns on Josef with gleaming angry eyes. ''What the hell is your problem with me? What? Did I look at you funny? Run over your goddamned dog? Sleep with your wife?''

''Do _not_ talk about my wife,'' Josef warns.

''Okay, Dean.'' Lisa steps in between the two men, pushing at Dean's chest. ''Dean, _stop_.''

''Seriously, what is your beef with me, man?!''

Josef scoffs. ''Like you don't know.''

''Obviously,'' Dean spits, ignoring Lisa's pleas. ''I don't, asshat.''

''I think you should shut your mouth, kid. I'm not gonna tell you again.''

''Dean,'' Lisa tries. ''Honey, come on. This isn't - ''

''No.'' But Dean doesn't stop, can't stop, won't stop. There is nothing else for him to do. He cannot get them out. He cannot save the day. All he can do is wait for his brother to hopefully come and save him and that is just not acceptable. There is nothing else to do but break. ''No,'' he repeats, stronger, fiercer. ''You tell me, Josef. You tell me right now. Tell me what I did.''

He honestly does not expect Josef to answer.

With his head lowered, his arms crossed, and his tongue poking into his cheek, Josef tilts his head upwards just enough to peer at Dean. It is unnervingly a Ruby thing to do. ''May 2nd, 2008,'' Josef says. His tone of voice - hoarse, quiet, simmering rage and grief just below the surface, evident in his guarded eyes and the barely noticeable catch in his throat - is one Dean has never heard come from the cocky, annoyingly self-assured stoic demon.

A whoosh of air escapes Dean's lungs and his stomach flip flops. He visibly deflates. Oh. Okay. _Okay._

''Do you remember that day, Dean?'' Josef lifts his head. ''Because I do. It was a Friday. My wife and I had always loved Fridays. Ruby quite liked them too. She had a standing lunch date with my wife.''

Dean opens his mouth. He wants to say, _Of course I fucking remember that day, you dick. It's a little hard to forget being torn open by hellhounds_. But he doesn't. Keeps his mouth shut instead.

Josef, on the other hand, is like a domino effect in progress. He says one thing and then he can't stop. ''She died that Friday, Dean,'' he says slowly. ''She died for you. She died _because_ of you.'' He strides right up to the edge of the Devil's Trap, tilting his head to the side. ''Do you ever think about that chain of events?'' He questions curiously. ''Do you ever think about what life would be like if she had never wanted to help you? That day, Dean...'' He shakes his head. ''That day, you summoned her - and she was okay with that, I know she was okay with that because she would've been there with or without a little mystical help and you know that - you trapped her, and that was it for her. That was it. You left her alone and vulnerable in that cage. You left her open. _You_ let Lilith get to her, you asshole. And then Lilith banished her. Which left the role of helpful demon sidekick wide open, allowing Margaret to waltz right in, take Ruby's place and shoot everything to shit. She ruined your brother, nearly screwed up the world, she dragged Ruby's name through the mud, and she wronged Crowley, which got the actual Ruby into this mess of crap that we are currently knee deep in.'' Josef stares at Dean, something dark and all powerful in his eyes, tainted with anger and a crippling devastation. ''So, that's it,'' he rasps, spreading his arms wide and dropping his gaze. ''You've doomed us all. Think about it. Everything connects back to you. This is all happening because of you. If she hadn't wanted to help you so badly, if she hadn't wanted to save your sorry ass, if she hadn't _loved_ you...'' He scoffs. ''But she loves you,'' his voice tightens. ''She loves you more than anyone.''

Dean swallows hard.

Josef smiles grimly. ''And look where that love has gotten us,'' he sneers. ''My wife is dead, we're trapped like cattle, and no matter what we do, no matter how hard we try, the only way out, the _only_ way to end this, is for Ruby to die. That's why, Dean. That's why I don't like you. You have taken everything from me. Every fucking thing. So, you know what? I hope you die. I hope you rot in here instead of her, because she does not deserve any of this and she is so much better than you are.''

Dean doesn't say anything. Not for a long time. For a very long time, his throat remains closed and he can't figure out how to pluck the right words out of his brain, so he doesn't. _Love_ , a voice in the back of his head reminds him in a humorless laugh. _You've always known it would destroy you. Your love is like a tornado, do you remember? It always ends in carnage._

Beside him, Lisa is near tears, her gaze fixed on the dirty floor, a hand over her mouth to keep something in. Behind him, Ben sighs and presses himself back against the wall. He hums.

''You know what, Josef?'' Dean rasps out, at last. ''You're right.''

Lisa looks up. Ben stops humming.

''She doesn't deserve any of the things that have happened to her, and she is a lot better than I am. She's brave and strong, her heart is ten times better than mine, ten times better than most, and she loves _dangerously_ and with everything. And if I could switch places with her, I would. In a second. In a goddamn heartbeat. But...'' A smirk twists itself onto his lips, his eyes staring right back at Josef. ''You already know that, don't you? See, you and me, Joe,'' he takes a step closer, inches away from the edge of the Devil's Trap. ''We're not that different when it comes to the people we love. So, don't pretend that you love her more than I do.'' He turns away from Josef, risks a glance at his son, and returns to desperately trying to achieve the impossible. ''You may be willing to give up on her, but I'm not.''

''Yeah,'' Josef fires back. ''You wouldn't want to give up on her again, would you?''

Dean falters, but goes on. He doesn't have a crapload of time to ponder all of these new thoughts, each one equally as soul crushing as the last, because the heavy metal door creaks open and someone enters the room, completely hidden in the shadows. Ben is on his feet in a second and within that same second, Dean has roughly grabbed his son's arm and yanked him behind, one hand grasping for Lisa.

''Dean,'' the shadow says, and Dean's heart jumps and does a full on somersault. Sam rushes into the room, lowering his gun and wrapping his fingers around the bars.

''Sammy,'' Dean laughs and touches the bars, less than an inch away from his brother's hand. ''Man, it's good to see you.''

Sam smiles back, distracted. ''Are you guys okay?''

''We're fine,'' Dean says shortly. ''Sam, Crowley's off his fucking nut.''

''Yeah,'' Sam snorts and puts his gun down to examine the lock on the cell. ''Well, Samuel won't exactly be winning Grandfather of the Year anytime soon. He came to Bobby's and ambushed us.''

''Bobby,'' Dean echoes. ''Where's - ''

''He went in through the back,'' Sam interjects, eyebrows furrowed, mouth drawn into a thin line. ''Ben,'' he raises his eyes to the boy and offers him one of those calm smiles that always manages to put people at ease. ''How're you doing?''

Ben's fingers clutch at Dean's jacket and he nods. ''Good. I'm good. I just want to get out of here.''

''Uh, key,'' Sam looks up hopelessly. ''I need a key. Did any of you guys happen to see a - ''

''If we had a key,'' Josef sneers. ''We wouldn't be stuck in this pizza box.''

Sam barely even looks at him. He swings his gaze back to Dean and starts to say his name, but almost immediately breaks off in a startled yell, as he is suddenly tossed through the air by an unseen force. He sails through the air, hits the wall with a sickening thud and falls flat on his face, groaning in pain.

''Sam!'' Panic blooms in his chest and Dean hurtles at the bars, slamming against them as if he thinks the force of his body will be enough. Again, Sam is pulled up by an invisible hand and thrown up against the wall. He begins to claw at his throat, like someone is strangling him, but it doesn't work. Dean grimaces when his brother does. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lisa, inching her way closer to him. He opens his mouth to tell her to stay where she is, but never gets the chance to say it. On her way to him, she crosses the Devil's Trap. The second she does, Josef grabs her and pulls both her and Ben behind him.

''Would you look at that?'' Crowley strolls into the room, smiling up at Sam. ''The puppy has found its way back to the master.'' He cuts his eyes to Dean and actually has the audacity to wink at him, which in hindsight, should not be as stomach turning as it is. ''Kitten,'' he turns to the doorway. ''Isn't that adorable?''

All eyes go to the blonde in the doorway, sagging against the doorframe, looking haunted and pale.

''Ruby,'' Josef says.

''What did you do?'' Dean breathes out. ''What did you do to her?''

''Oh,'' Crowley waves a hand at them and moves back over to Ruby. ''Let's not bore ourselves with the details.'' With a simple flick of his wrist, he wrenches Sam away from the wall and then slams him back into it. Sam slumps to the floor and Dean's entire body twitches. Looking positively jovial, Crowley takes Ruby's hand and pulls her to him. She winces and won't look at Dean. Crowley wraps an arm around her shoulders and stares at his prisoners like they are a work of art; something he has crafted through blood, sweat and tears. ''All right,'' he booms. ''Here you are, darling. They're fine. Let's get this - ''

''Wait.''

Crowley clenches his jaw and looks down at her. ''Yes, by all means, let's stall some more.''

''I don't understand.'' She breaks free of his hold on her and stares up at him with that little frown of hers that has always driven Dean crazy. Her voice is quiet but strangely close to being nonchalant. He doesn't think he has ever heard her sound so calm before. It's not right. Something is not right. ''I understand why the boys are here.'' She gestures toward Sam and tosses a look over her shoulder at Dean and Josef. ''I love them,'' she says simply, ''and you want to take away the things I love. I even get Ben. You know it would destroy Dean to watch you kill his son and you know he would never look at me the same way knowing it was because of me. Very diabolical. But,'' she throws a disapproving look over her shoulder at Lisa. ''What's she doing here? I don't care if she lives or dies.''

''Well, A,'' Crowley shakes his head, searching the pockets of his black trench coat for something. ''You do care, Ruby. That's your character flaw, do you remember? You _care_. And B: She's not here as a pawn in this chess game. She's here as a gift.'' A noise of triumph escapes his lips when he successfully manages to produce her knife from the depths of his pocket, placing it in her hand. That would be the point where it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. Ruby's eyes are fixed on the knife in her hands.

''She's not going to do it,'' Dean tells Crowley, smirking when he gets a glare for daring to open his mouth. ''She would never - ''

''If you kill her, I'll let one of these insignificant fleas go.''

Ruby looks up.

''No!'' The outburst comes from Ben, who's struggling against Josef's hold on him, looking enraged. ''No! Dad! Dad, don't let her - ''

''She's not going to - ''

''You will?'' Ruby interjects, hands still clenched firmly around the handle of the knife.

Crowley nods. ''I'll even let you choose which one.'' He smiles softly and takes her face in his hands. ''I am a man of my word.''

When she still doesn't appear to be all that convinced, he moves his hands to her shoulders. He runs his hands up and down her arms, purposefully ignores the fiery glare being beamed at him from the Winchester in the cage, and he turns her around to face the caged animals. She instantly drops her eyes to the ground. ''It would be easy,'' Crowley croons in her ear. ''Come on, poppet. Let's face it. There has always been a part of you that has wanted her gone. Out of the way. Far, far away from lover boy. Tell me I'm wrong. ...You can't, can you?'' She doesn't answer and he beams, delighting in making the situation as intense, unbearable and uncomfortable as possible. ''Flowers, darling,'' he whispers. ''They may be better than weeds, but they can die just as easily.'' She flinches. ''You kill her and I'll let the boy go.''

It happens too quickly for anyone to do anything. Ruby's head snaps up, eyes black like oil puddles, and Lisa's body is wrenched away from Josef. She slams up against the wall violently with a pained scream and tears on her cheeks. Her teeth sink into her lip and her whimpers get stuck in her throat. She is braver than one would expect, fire gleaming in her glistening eyes. Ben is shouting desperately, still struggling against Josef's hold, growing more and more petrified with every second.

''Ruby!'' Dean's fingers cramp up from gripping the bars too tightly. ''Look at me!'' That's as far as he gets before he too is being flung up against the wall like a rag doll. Ben is next, being pulled roughly out of Josef's grasp, still kicking and screaming. Simultaneously, a spontaneous crack in the ceiling begins to make its way toward the Devil's Trap. Ruby doesn't give it a second thought. She whirls around with the knife raised, ready to strike Crowley. Dean is, regrettably, frozen. Struck by the horrible heart stopping feeling that he is going to have to watch her die right in front of him again, his entire body seizes up and he can't even scream. He can't make a sound. There is noise coming from all around him, even from inside of him - the sound of blood rushing is deafening in a situation like this one - but he is trapped in a fog.

The knife never does come into contact with Crowley's skin. He catches her wrist before she can slash him, sneering down at her. ''I knew you were going to do that.''

Undeterred, she keeps her gaze level and smirks right back at him. ''Bet you didn't know I was going to do this.'' Her fingers curl around his jacket and she pulls herself to him, leaning up to plant her lips on his in a firm kiss.

Funnily enough, that's what snaps Dean out of his panic induced stupor. ''Ruby! Whatever plan you've got, it's not worth - ''

Crowley draws back with a gasp and shoves her away from him. She goes stumbling back, but she looks mighty satisfied, wiping her lips and grinning. He staggers back, still gasping. Struggling for breath and clutching at his chest helplessly. ''You...'' He actually looks stunned, glaring up at Ruby with bright eyes. ''What did you do?'' His body fails him miserably, weakening severely and sending him crashing to his knees. ''What did you do?!'' His gasps are quickly becoming more and more pained, and he is beginning to gurgle grossly as if being drowned on dry land. His body is beginning to fold into itself pathetically. He gags and blood starts to pour out of his mouth.

''You want me to feel your pain,'' Ruby breathes out, watching in triumph as blood begins to trickle out of his eyes and his nose and his ears. ''I want you to feel the pain of every person you have ever so much as breathed on.'' Crowley drops onto his hands and knees, trying and failing to get something out through the blood in his mouth. His hand shoots out and grabs at her ankle, grasping for it and trying to take her down to his level. She gasps, caught off guard, her focus slips, and everyone else falls. She yanks herself out of his grasp and kicks him away from her like a dog. She spares a glance behind her, but keeps her attention on Crowley. She moves slowly and deliberately, crouching down in front of the bloody and incapacitated ''King of Hell'' for a chat.

Dean, despite the grogginess he's feeling from having his already concussed head bashed into a wall, knows this is not going to end well.

''This is what you do to people,'' Ruby whispers, tilting Crowley's chin up so she can look him in the eye. She twirls her knife in her hand. ''It hurts, doesn't it?''

Crowley laughs, sending blood spurting out of his mouth. It's a watery laugh, ugly and bloody, but the pain in his eyes has dissipated slightly, which cannot be a good sign. ''You think this makes you better than me?''

''No,'' she deadpans. ''Mostly I think _ew_. I'm not better than you because I can turn you into a quivering mess of blood and pain. I'm better than you because despite your many strengths, you have one weakness that I could never have.'' Her fingernails cut into his cheeks as she holds his bloody head in place. ''You think with your dick. I mean, all of this,'' she looks around, ''just because my sister screwed you over?'' She clicks her tongue and wags her finger at him in mock disappointment. ''Shame on you.'' The blade of the knife glistens in the light. ''I suppose on some level, I understand,'' she admits quietly. ''Love,'' she shakes her head, turning just enough to catch sight of Dean for barely a second. ''It makes you do crazy things,'' she whispers. ''It drives you mad.''

''You do this,'' Crowley chokes out. ''You do it and I've won.'' He doesn't get the response he must have been hoping for. She stares at him for an unnerving amount of time. Dean can't actually see her face. Can't see the look in her eyes, but her body language is startlingly loose and calm. Her shoulders are not tensed, her back is relaxed, and her breathing is even. ''You will still die,'' Crowley warns her. ''You will still lose.''

''That's a nice try,'' she tells him. ''But you're not stupid enough to believe that.''

The crack in the ceiling reaches the Devil's Trap, effectively freeing Josef, and he storms across the small space, ripping the lock off the door and lunging for Ruby. He is not quick enough.

The knife comes down.

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.

.

Samuel regains consciousness alone. In that one moment, as he opens his eyes to blinding pain but a heart that's still beating, it is almost as if the world is trying to tell him something. _Perhaps we will let you live_ , the Fates are telling him. _But you will always be alone_. Every part of him aches and hurts like hell and he can't even move one inch without wanting to scream. One of his legs is broken. His back is broken. He can taste blood in his mouth. It hurts to breathe. A dark rage simmers inside of him and coats his insides an ugly black.

He hopes Crowley kills that bitch and he hopes she feels it in every bit of her. He opens his mouth to call for help, but a cough comes out instead, nasty and hacking. It hurts terribly to cough and his eyes burn, vision blurring. He's going to die here. He's going to die here on this goddamn floor and it's all because of that filthy demonic bitch. Through everything - the pain and the blood and the tears - he scowls and determination shines through. No. He'll be damned if he lets her win.

A low whistle interrupts his internal monologue. He'd turn his head to greet the newcomer, but that doesn't seem like it's going to happen anytime soon. ''You look like death,'' a voice says gruffly.

Samuel somehow manages to hiss out a name through clenched teeth. ''Singer.''

Bobby Singer strolls into view, staring down at the crumpled body at his feet with a curious frown. ''You're like a cockroach,'' he says. ''You just won't die, will you? What the hell happened to you?''

'' _Ruby_ happened to me,'' Samuel spits out. ''Your little demonic whore threw me over a balcony.''

Much to his disgust, Singer actually smirks at that. ''Looks like it's your lucky day. You're still breathing.'' He crouches down next to Samuel and makes a half assed attempt to survey his injuries. ''Can you move?''

Samuel considers telling Singer to screw off, but eventually coughs and decides to speak up. ''Think...'' He coughs again, but can't seem to catch his breath this time. ''Think my back's broken.''

Singer makes an unconcerned noise in the back of his throat. ''Cryin' shame.''

''These are the kinds of people you associate yourself with?'' Samuel asks bitterly. ''Inhuman creatures and two bitter disappointments? We're hunters, Singer. We're not supposed to be like this.''

''Says the man working for the King Dick?''

''With,'' Samuel corrects. ''Working with.''

''You're an idiot.''

''Have you forgotten who you are?'' Samuel tries desperately.

Singer gets an odd look on his face at that; something between anger and thoughtfulness. ''I know exactly who I am,'' he argues. ''Do you?''

''We're supposed to teach our children right from wrong.''

Singer chuckles. He looks off into the distance for a moment and then focuses his attention back on Samuel. There is something in his eyes that deeply disturbs Samuel. ''You want to know what I've learned over the years I've spent with those kids? Apparently a hell of a lot more than you learned with your children. Those kids are going to love the way they love, walk the way they walk, talk the way they talk, dress the way they dress, do the things they do, and it don't matter. They break our hearts, wear us down to dust, nearly end the world, and it still don't matter. It ain't supposed to matter. At the end of the day, we're all built to love family the same way we've always loved them, no matter what they do to us. Our children are supposed to be better than us. Now, I've always known this, but I have never realized how deep that goes until right now. Dean and Sam, you see, are good men. The best. They're not the men you think they are. They would never _let_ themselves be the men you think they are. And they love Ruby. And if they love Ruby then that means she's good.'' He clears his throat and cranes his neck to search for something. ''In the spirit of brutal honesty, Campbell, she could've done a lot worse. Could've made sure you were dead. Finished the job. It would've been easy. Look at you! It would've been a damn mercy kill. But she didn't. Do you know what that tells me? It tells me she's better than I ever will be.''

Samuel realizes a second too late what that means. Singer's hand roughly covers his mouth and his nose, blocking all airways. Samuel struggles and tries to fight, even as his air begins to run out and his strength begins to diminish. Despite the severe pain, he moves his arms and tries to claw at Singer. His efforts are fruitless; they go virtually unnoticed, and Singer keeps his hand over Samuel's airways. Samuel meets Singer's eyes as he begins to weaken and tries to plead with the man for mercy. Singer doesn't stop. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if he would stop if the situations were reversed. Black spots dance on the outlines of his vision.

No.

He doesn't think he would stop either.

Before long, he stops struggling and everything fades away under the palm of Bobby Singer's hand.

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.

.

Dean has learned something he never wanted to know in the past few seconds. It is now branded deep into his skin. He knows now what it must feel like to have a heart attack. It feels, as one would guess, _awful_. Ruby drives her knife into Crowley's gut without a millisecond of hesitation and seems to take great pleasure in the howl of pain he makes. She stares right at him, watching in satisfaction as he chokes and sputters and the light goes out in his eyes. Josef cannot stop her in time, missing by a second. Dean follows after him, shoving and kicking until he can reach her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her away, like he thinks it will do something. It's like a sort of tunnel vision. It is only after she has wrenched herself free that it begins to sink in.

Crowley is dead and gone; nothing but an empty and bloody meat shell on a filthy floor, but Ruby is still here. She is still living and breathing and _scowling_ \- and god, it's a _beautiful_ scowl. She doesn't even have a scratch on her. Dean breathes - tries to, at least - and has to lean over, bracing himself against his knees because his entire body feels heavy.

Josef, who is visibly shaking, takes a more direct approach. He matches her scowl with one of his own and lets loose a growl, wrapping one of his big hands around his niece's tiny neck and driving her into the wall. ''Don't you fucking do that to me,'' he spits out. ''Not ever again.'' It is not hard to tell that he sounds about three seconds away from bursting into tears, and Dean feels like he is intruding.

He looks over at Lisa and Ben and then rushes toward his brother. ''Sam,'' he soothes, tapping the younger man on the cheek. ''Sam,'' he says again, louder this time. His fingers ghost over his brother's neck and he lets out a relieved breath at the feel of the strong and steady pulse. ''Sammy! Come on! Rise and shine, man!''

''I'm sorry,'' Ruby gasps out, once Josef has let go of her. ''I'm sorry, I just - I had to - '' She stops abruptly when Dean meets her eyes. A small smile works its way onto her lips. ''Hi.''

Dean thinks he should find it a little unusual that this is the moment his throat tightens with the weight of it all, but it's really not. ''Hi.''

Sam wakes up.

He awakens with a quiet groan and a weak, sluggish movement, unlike all those other times he has jerked away with a loud grunt, moving almost too fast. Ruby abandons the eye sex to help Dean get Sam onto his feet. Dean watches her closely as she takes charge of the situation. She seems genuinely concerned for Lisa and Ben, asking them over and over again if they're all right and assuring them that it's all going to be okay now. She must apologize to all of them at least ten times. It's not as if this is a massively surprising turn of events, really. Of course she's genuinely concerned for Lisa and Ben. She knows they mean something to Dean. It's just a slightly uncomfortable moment.

Even though Josef doesn't seem too keen on the idea of letting his kid out of his sight ever again for any amount of time, Ruby uses her power of persuasion and eventually manages to convince him to get Lisa and Ben to safety. ''Joe, it's okay,'' she tells him. ''I'm okay. Crowley's dead. He can't hurt me. Just...please do this for me. Please.'' Then she does that thing where she touches your arm and stares up at you with pleading eyes and a half pout, which just gets everybody. Even G.I. Joe over there. Dean isn't sure why her tactics strike him as odd, but they do. Perhaps it's just because she doesn't usually allow herself to use her powers of adorableness when in the presence of a room full of people. Or perhaps it's how desperate she is for Josef to _leave, get out, just take them somewhere safe, please just go._ And so Josef leaves, sweeping Lisa and Ben out of the dank room.

''Ruby,'' Dean starts slowly, one hand still clutching his brother's arm to make sure Sam doesn't fall. He swallows and tries to find a way to stifle the nervous feeling in his gut. ''What did you do?''

She skirts around the issue, licking her lips and turning away from them. She bends down to retrieve her beloved knife from Crowley's gut. ''What do you mean?'' She wipes the blood off on the dead man's coat.

''How did you do it? How did you kill Crowley?''

''I stabbed him,'' she monotones. ''Didn't you see that part?'' When her knife is sufficiently clean enough for her, she stands and turns back to them. ''Here,'' her voice is a hoarse murmur as she hands the knife over to him. ''I'm sure you'll find a use for this.''

''Ruby, how did you break the spell?'' Sam asks.

She adamantly refuses to address the question, ignoring it altogether and clapping her hands to get rid of any Crowley germs. ''You two should go,'' she advises them, instead of providing them with even the vaguest of answers. ''Find Bobby. Get the hell out of here. I'll clean up this mess.''

Oh, that's something Dean has heard before, back in the day, after the witches. (The start of it all.) ''No,'' he shoots. ''We're not fucking playing that game again, Ruby. We're not going anywhere.'' In order to keep her from running away, which he knows she'll do, he grabs her arm. ''Just tell me how you stopped the spell.''

''It wasn't a spell,'' she corrects, lowering her gaze to the hold he has on her arm. ''It was a curse.''

''Okay, then how did you stop the curse?''

She shrugs. ''I know people,'' is all she says, which is not really an answer, nor is it comforting. ''Come on,'' she slips out of Dean's grasp and strides toward the door. ''Let's get you boys out of here.'' She stops in the doorway and looks back at them with this strange smile on her face. There is something about that image that Dean thinks will stick in his mind forever and he's not sure why.

.

.

.

There is nothing special about the moment it happens. There is nothing to distinguish this moment from any other. It's just another day at the office. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and everyone is calming down. The aches and pains are starting to act up and nobody feels like an action hero anymore. Dean just wants to find Bobby, go home, take some painkillers, and hopefully have a talk with Ruby, because Crowley is gone now and that has to mean something for them.

As soon as Sam's back is turned, Dean lets out the breath he has been holding for weeks and gathers Ruby into his arms, breathing in the smell of her shampoo. He doesn't even care that it's maybe not the right time or place to be participating in PDA. He legitimately doesn't give a fuck because he had seriously thought... He doesn't want to talk about it. She feels a little stiff in his arms, a little awkward, and maybe uncomfortable, but when she hugs him back, he feels her hot breath against his neck and he hears her make a hushed noise in the back of her throat. Something halfway between a whimper and a sigh. He draws away from her first, brushing his thumb across her cheek. ''You sure you're okay?''

She nods. ''Right as rain,'' she promises.

She _promises._

But then they come across Bobby, who is standing over Samuel's body, wiping his hands on a rag. Dean makes the mistake of turning his back on Ruby. He falls into the Samuel issue with his whole body because it's not really about Samuel anymore. It's about Bobby. When he very bluntly shares the story of how he killed Mr. Campbell, Dean feels a twinge of something. It's not grief for Samuel. It's far from it. Samuel was an ass. A threat. He was not family. Not someone to look up to. He was an idiot and Dean is sure that his mother (and probably his grandmother as well) would be deeply, deeply ashamed. The painful pang Dean gets in his chest is one of guilt over the fact that Bobby had to essentially murder another human being because of those damned Winchester boys and their troubled genes. He would ruminate on this, like he does everything else, but he doesn't have the time.

The conversation falls to the gruesome topic of getting rid of multiple bodies. Dean turns to ask Ruby if it's safe to torch Crowley's body and she's not there. Goddamn it. ''Son of a - Are you kidding me?'' He snaps. ''Why does she always do that?'' He rubs at his forehead in exasperation. ''Ruby!'' He spins in a circle, searching for her escape route. Grumbling under his breath, he tells Sam and Bobby to stay put for a minute while he goes to look for her and then he heads out. All he's really feeling is frustration with Ruby right now. She always does this. She always runs. God, doesn't she get tired of all the running? It must be exhausting.

Dean steps out into the setting sun calling her name. ''Ruby!'' She couldn't have gotten that far. ''Ruby!'' He crunches through the gravel and the dirt and turns a corner.

The entire bottom just falls right out of everything the minute he does, and the feeling that takes over is something akin to being sucked into a black hole. She is standing in the dirt and the gravel, doubled over with one hand braced against the wall and the other clutching at her stomach. The hand on the wall shines with red blood and is currently in the process of leaving a smeared handprint on the dirty stucco. ''Ruby!'' He makes it to her side in record time, slipping an arm around her waist to steady her.

The second he touches her, she crumbles and they both go to the dirt. ''Ruby,'' he says, but his throat is too tight to say anything else. She is covered in blood, one hand grasping his shirt, the other holding her stomach like she's trying to hold herself together. Instinctively, he puts a hand over the wound, over her own blood stained hand, to stem the flow of blood, but he knows that won't be enough.

''I'm sorry,'' she says, and she's crying. She's shaking and shivering like she's cold, and her blood has already gotten in between his fingers and underneath his fingernails. ''I'm sorry.'' He opens his mouth to yell for Sam, but she reads his mind, jerking in his arms and gasping. ''No,'' she begs. ''Don't call Sam,'' she sobs, grabbing his jacket. ''Don't. He doesn't need to - He doesn't need to see this.'' She stares up at him with ashen cheeks and tear filled eyes. ''He's already seen too many people die.''

''No, no, this isn't - oh, god.'' There is _so much blood_. ''No. You were fine,'' he rambles helplessly. ''Ruby, you were okay.''

''No,'' she blubbers. ''No, Dean, listen. You can't stop a curse. You can only get out of its way. I'm a... I am a curse. You have to get out of my way.''

''But - ''

''We... We couldn't...'' She breaks off in a hacking cough, that ends with her gasping and sputtering for air. ''We couldn't stop it. ...But we could delay it.''

''We? Who's we?''

''It doesn't matter. This was - It was supposed to give me enough time...enough time to get away from you.'' She shakes her head weakly, licking her bloodied lips. ''I didn't want you to have to watch me - I'm sorry,'' she cries. ''I'm sorry.'' She just keeps repeating it over and over again into his chest, ''I'm sorry,'' until it's incoherent, lost among the sobs.

Dean is still in shock. He's not crying, not yelling, not thinking much of anything. He can't. He's stuck between shock and denial and his mind is slowly shutting down on him. But his body takes over in an instant, reacting to the situation by doing whatever he can do. She is practically in his lap now and one of his bloody hands is in her hair, staining her hair. There is not much he can do here. He can keep pressure on the wound and he can try to keep her calm, but that's about it. He can't stop her from leaving him. He can't save her. That slams into him and it's like being jump started. ''Ruby,'' his voice catches. ''No.'' She falls against his chest, still murmuring apologies. ''Sweetheart, it's not - '' He means to say that it's not as bad as it looks, but he can't get the words out around the lump in his throat. ''This isn't what was supposed to happen,'' he babbles. ''We were supposed to have a chance.''

Her blood soaked hands slip around his neck. ''I loved you, you know,'' she whispers tiredly, resting her forehead against his. ''I loved you so much.''

''I know,'' he chokes out. ''I know.''

''Tell me you love me,'' she pleads.

''You know I love you.''

She smiles then - the crazy girl - she actually smiles. She tries to say something. She tries to force one last whisper out through her shallow breaths and the blood on her tongue, but she can't get it out. Her arms are still wound around his neck and he's cradling her against his chest, letting the blood get all over him and feeling her shiver violently against his chest. Eventually...

...it stops.

The shivers fade and her gasps silence. She quietly goes still in his arms and he is left clinging to a corpse in the dirt, covered in blood. There is nothing left to hold onto.

There is nothing left.

.

.

.

_''There's nowhere to go, I thought. There's nowhere to go._  
 _You were sitting in a bathtub in the hospital and you were crying._  
 _You said it hurt._  
 _I mean the buildings that were not the hospital._  
 _I shouldn't have mentioned the hospital._  
 _I don't think I can take this much longer.''_   
**\- I had a dream about you**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Crowley has been taken care of. I hope it wasn't too disappointing of a final fight. I didn't want it to be some big massive beat down/fight to the death type of thing. It was supposed to be almost anticlimactic in nature, because the real big moment in the chapter was supposed to be her death. At the end of the day, I think I accomplished what I set out to do, so I'm pretty happy. However, just because Ruby has, sadly, passed away, doesn't mean that this story is over. There's still a few twists and turns left.


	18. Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

_the hunter's heart_

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_''I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters kept smudging as I wrote them:_   
_the hunter's heart, the hunter's mouth, the trees and the trees_   
_and the space between the trees, swimming in gold.''_   
**\- snow and dirty rain**

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.

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There is no way to make this story anything other than what it is.

A tragedy that knows no boundaries, a love story that just _ends_ , a story without a happy ending, or a bow, or a nice wrap up. A coat of paint, a song and dance, a prayer, the powers of bargaining...

None of these things will bring about a happy ending that never was.

Life is hard. It's cruel. It wrecks you. Cuts you up. Worms its way into your heart and creates heart failure. A pain of the sickest kind. It puts your will to be here through a juicer. All the sugar in the world couldn't make this bitter mess of blood, sweat and tears sweet.

It doesn't work that way.

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.

.

Lisa isn't entirely comfortable in the presence of this enigmatic Josef character.

She thinks she might trust him just fine, because he does get her and her son to safety, but she's not sure what to think of him. Normally, she wouldn't worry herself with feeling guilty over this. She either feels comfortable or she doesn't, and Josef isn't even human, so it's not like it's completely unfounded that she's uncomfortable. But there's something about this man that makes guilt bloom to the surface. There are fine lines on his face that paint vivid portraits of unthinkable tragedies that she cannot begin to imagine. His thin lips and the perpetually impatient look on his face may make him appear as some stone cold uncaring demon, but he is a broken, broken man and she - for some reason - feels awful that it makes her uncomfortable.

She thinks even this can be traced back to Dean. He has made brokenness and unfixable heartache her type. She really hates that.

After Josef guides her and Ben out of the structure they had been held in, he hotwires a car, forces them into it despite Ben's incredibly vocal protesting that he's not leaving without his father, gets them on the road, and barely says two words to them. She is grateful for his help. She tries to leave it at that. She has her hands full with trying to keep an increasingly pissed off Ben calm, simultaneously assuring him that Dean will be fine and trying to mask her own worry.

The drive is about three hours and it's tedious and awkward, with Josef driving in stony silence and Lisa concentrating on her son. Josef has a very slow and measured way of talking whenever he's speaking to them, like he thinks every single word he says through, imagining the possible outcome. It's almost like he's prodding them for answers without having to listen to them talk. He asks them if they're okay, if either of them need a hospital, and then he tells them that he is not going to take them back home, but to Bobby Singer's house because he's sure Dean will want to make sure they're all right before he takes them home himself. That's it. He clamps his mouth shut and doesn't say another word.

He's an odd man. Rather intimidating. He'll look at her and she'll just feel his eyes practically burning through her. He's not really a man at all, if she thinks about it. He's a demon. This is painfully clear. Also, he's related to Ruby, which does serve to make things a little strained. She spends a lot of time trying to be polite to him. By the time they get to the salvage yard, she is torn between wanting to get away from him and the awkward silences and wanting to stay and ask him what it's like to be a living breathing version of Batman. Ultimately, she chooses fleeing.

She and Ben seek refuge on the second floor of Bobby's house, away from Josef. She half heartedly attempts to help Ben clean up, wiping the smeared dirt off his face, but in true pre-teen fashion, he scowls, snaps at her and swats her hands away. She tells him that he can sleep if he wants to but he stubbornly shakes his head and tells her that he wants to wait for his dad before stomping back downstairs. She blows out a breath and scrubs a hand over her forehead, swallowing the urge to run after him and hold him tight. She is not a blind idiot. Her son may be a strong kid, but he is still just a kid and the events of the past couple days have clearly taken a toll on him. He is shaken and horrified, but he is doing all he can do to cover that up with blind frustration and anger. He's freaked out, plain and simple, and unfortunately for her, her son displays freaked out as hates the world.

Suddenly feeling exhausted and shaky, she slumps down onto the edge of the bathtub in Bobby Singer's old house and cries. She doesn't mean to. The tears just sort of happen on their own. She leans forward to bury her head in her hands. The adrenaline that had been pumping through her is long gone now and it has left her a broken and trembling mess. There are so many emotions racing through her that she can't pick one from another. In the course of two days, she has learned that Dean Winchester is in fact her baby daddy, she has been kidnapped and held hostage by a demon with a screw loose, and her life has been saved (spared) by The Other Woman. She feels like all she should be hoping for right now is normalcy. She should be wishing for a time machine to go back to when Dean showed up on her doorstep wrecked so that she could slam the door in his face and save herself. It would be so much easier. It would be so much safer. It would hurt less.

As it is, she just wishes Dean had picked her. It's an off putting moment of jealousy and grief and yearning that startles her and makes her feel absolutely pathetic, but it's powerful. Nearly debilitating. It hurts so badly. She misses him. She really does. She misses how safe he felt, despite everything. She misses the way he held her and kissed her and touched her like she was the only one for him. Lisa has always prided herself on not needing a man, on being Wonder Woman and Supermom. But.

She misses not being alone. She misses sharing her life with someone. It was nice. It took some of the weight off. It's hard to do this all alone. ''No,'' she thinks her voice may come out a little garbled and hoarse, but she does her best to sound strong. She rises to her feet and staggers over to the sink, grasping the edge of it. Her reflection is tired and sad. ''What are you doing?'' She whispers to herself. ''I can't do this anymore.''

She _needs_ to get over Dean Winchester. She needs to. She doesn't have the time or the patience to act like this anymore. She is a mother, for god's sake. She has a family and a job. It's time to stop being Dean's ex and start being Lisa again. She shakes her head and wipes at her eyes. ''I'm fine,'' she says strongly. ''I'm fine, Ben's fine, we're all fine. Everything's fine.''

She swallows.

She cleans herself up the best she can, splashing her face and scrubbing at as much skin as possible. She could really use a shower. A shower would be heaven right about now; steam and hot water to wash away the dirt, sweat, tears and weakness leftover from everything, but she really has no idea how to navigate this house and she's not so sure she feels comfortable showering in someone else's house without their permission.

She's not sure what to do next to keep her mind off of the waiting and everything that has happened. She goes back downstairs, praying that Ben won't notice her red eyes. She finds her son sitting sullenly in the living room, waiting for his dad. He is silent and stoic, but she can practically see the burning in his eyes, made up of fear and exhaustion and anger. Lisa swallows hard and sits down on an old lumpy chair, carefully moving a book off the seat and placing it on an already precarious stack of books. As she gingerly sits down, feeling awkward and out of place, it suddenly occurs to her that she and her son haven't eaten anything in at least 24 hours. She had honestly forgotten. It's funny. The things that escape you.

''Hey,'' she tries to smile. ''You hungry? I can probably scrounge up some stuff for grilled cheese.''

Ben shakes his head slowly and drops his gaze to his hands. ''Not hungry,'' he mumbles.

She presses her lips together. She doesn't even have the strength to reprimand him for mumbling, something she hates. ''Baby,'' she tries again. ''You really should try to eat something.''

He doesn't answer, eyes firmly cast downwards, teeth sinking into his lip. ''You know,'' he muses softly. ''This is all her fault.''

Lisa winces and shuts her eyes. Yep. She was afraid of that.

When he looks up at her, his eyes are bright. '' _Everything_ is her fault,'' he snarls out passionately. ''This all happened because of her. We were kidnapped. She could've killed you.'' His eyes narrow into slits and he shakes his head. ''She ruined everything.''

''Ben,'' Lisa sighs out. ''She saved our lives.''

''I don't care. I hate her,'' he declares vehemently, voice thick with unshed tears. ''I wish she had never come back.''

She closes her eyes. ''Baby, that's not fair.''

He scoffs. ''Why not?''

She clenches her teeth. ''He wasn't happy, Ben.''

''I know!'' He bursts out. ''I know that, okay?! I know he wasn't happy!'' He leaps to his feet with a grunt and runs a hand through his hair. ''But he could have been,'' he says quietly. ''He could have been so happy with us, Mom. But then she had to come back and ruin everything. And then we got kidnapped! I wish she had just stayed gone.''

Lisa glances around nervously, half expecting Josef to pop up and tear Ben a new one for daring to talk shit about his niece. He does seem to be a staunch defender of his niece. He's definitely president of the Ruby fan club. She licks her lips. That's not fair. He's her family. Of course he's going to defend her. ''Ben, stop it.''

Ben's eyes flash. ''She took him away from us, Mom!'' He screams. ''She's the reason Dad left you and she nearly got us both killed! Why are you defending her?!''

The emotions that have been bubbling to the surface overflow and spill out and her throat begins to ache terribly. ''Because he loves her!'' She shoots back at her son, standing quickly. Her outburst startles Ben and she immediately takes in a breath and tries to clam herself down. ''He loves her,'' she says, softer this time. ''She makes him happy. I want him to be happy.''

''He loved you,'' Ben argues in a croak.

She smiles sadly and shakes her head. ''He did,'' she agrees. ''Just not like that. You're young. You don't understand. ...What it looks like...'' She sniffles. Tears flood her eyes and she valiantly attempts to blink them away before Ben can see them. ''Love. When it's real and true,'' she whispers. ''It was always her. It was always supposed to be her.''

''Then why did he come back to us?''

''Oh,'' she laughs and wipes at her eyes. ''Ben, honey,'' she smiles. ''He came back for you.''

Ben falls back onto the couch with a sigh and crosses his arms, still broody and scowly. (Like a true Winchester.) ''I still don't like her,'' he gripes.

She leans back against the rickety table wavering under the weight of all the books on it. ''You don't have to like her,'' she assures her. ''You just have to accept her. She's important to your dad and I can guarantee she's going to be around for a long, long time. He needs her.''

He is quiet and contemplative for a moment, an adorably pensive look on his face. He stares down at the ground. ''I do want him to be happy,'' he admits in a mumble. ''I do.''

She flashes him a weak smile. ''She'll make him happy.''

He doesn't say anything else, keeping his eyes down as he scuffs at the floor with his shoe. Lisa remains still for a moment, studying her son. She isn't all that worried. He'll be fine. He may be a little stung right now, but he'll be fine. He'll recover quickly, forge a great relationship with his father, and probably even grow to like Ruby. He will bounce back with the agility only a twelve year old can have. She, however... She needs some air. She does not have the emotional agility of a twelve year old, you see. She excuses herself with a quiet but steady voice and ducks outside into the cool spring air.

The sun beats down on her from a blue sky and her breathing grows ragged. Her body feels strange; her muscles tight and sore, her limbs shaky. She does not at all feel like herself. Logically, she knows that this is most likely some form of shock. Just the side effects of adrenaline draining out and exhaustion creeping in, but she does not like it. She rubs at her watery eyes and attempts to do a few breathing techniques that she has picked up from years of yoga. She just really wishes Dean would come home. Even if it's not her he wants, she needs to know he's okay. He's still Ben's father and she still cares about him and that was some _bad shit_ that went down. She grimaces and crosses her arms over her chest, her beating heart. The events of the past couple days still feel surreal to her. Part of her is still waiting to wake up.

A choked laugh pushes through her lips. She doesn't think this is the life her parents had imagined for her. She closes her eyes and breathes in the fresh air, just trying to gather herself together enough to be okay again. After a minute, she opens her eyes, releases one more breath and decides she's okay. Or at least she's okay enough for now. She turns to slip back inside, ready to smile big for her son and make grilled cheese. Instead, she runs straight into an unfamiliar but uncomfortably aesthetically pleasing chest. She gasps and her hands fly to her mouth, eyes traveling up.

''Sorry,'' Josef apologizes. ''I didn't mean to scare you.''

She stares up at him with wide eyes. ''Were you...'' She looks around him, then up. ''Were you on the roof?''

The expression on his face never changes. Doesn't even waver. ''Is that strange?''

''...Kinda, yeah.''

''I'll make a note of that,'' he remarks.

She presses her lips together.

Finally, he cracks a smile. ''You realize I'm messing with you, right?''

''I didn't, no. You have one expression. You're extremely hard to read.''

''I wasn't on the roof,'' he says. ''I'm not a DC comic superhero, you know. I was around back. I wanted to make sure Crowley didn't send any of his idiots to stake this place out.''

She pales. ''Would he do that?''

He shrugs. ''He _was_ out of his mind,'' he reminds her. He stares down at her with a disturbingly intense look of fascination, as if she is a hard to understand painting, and then he moves past her. His shoulder brushes hers as he takes slow and careful steps over to the railing. He leans against it, tongue poked into his cheek and he just stares at her. For some reason, she lets him. ''I don't get it,'' he finally says in a soft rumble.

She shifts from foot to foot. She moves slowly and hesitantly over to the railing beside him, hands curled around the wood. ''Get what?''

''How that man continues to get all of these women, who are so obviously better than him, under his thumb like puppets.'' He snorts, caught somewhere between genuine curiosity and disgust. ''I don't understand his appeal.''

She puckers her lips, suddenly feeling oddly offended. ''I'm sorry, are you hitting on me or insulting me?''

He rolls his eyes. ''I'm married.''

''So, the latter then?''

He pushes off the railing. ''I don't know you well enough to insult you, Ms. Braeden. I'm just stating a fact. I don't understand what it is about Dean freaking Winchester. What makes him everything all these women want? Is it his looks? His charm? The way he says the word sweetheart?''

''He's never called me that.''

''For all intents and purposes, he's nothing special,'' Josef goes on, emotionless and oblivious to the slack jawed expression he's getting. ''Technically, if you think about it, his body is past its prime and his mind is perpetually eighteen.''

''Actually, I've heard that thirty three is the prime of life. I've also heard that for sexual prowess, the ideal age is anywhere between forty two and fifty. If you want to get _technical_ , his body is either perfect right now, or so called perfection is on its way.'' Then, because she's evil, and still a little protective of Dean, she adds, ''I'm sure your niece is going to enjoy those years,'' just to piss him off.

It does not deter him at all, although his eyes do darken a little at the thought of Dean defiling his niece. ''He's no longer a vessel,'' he points out. ''No longer needed to save the world. He doesn't have money. Doesn't have an abundance of extreme wit and intelligence. So what is it about Dean?''

She looks at him, completely floored. And then she bursts out laughing.

''I...'' His eyebrows furrow and he frowns deeply, folding his arms over his chest. ''Didn't realize that was funny.''

''You sound like the jealous father of a teenage girl who's started spending all her time with her new boyfriend.''

It seems to be the wrong thing to say because he stands straight and glowers down at her. ''I am trying to protect my kid,'' he grouches. ''Tell me you wouldn't do the same.''

Despite the gnawing in her gut that is telling her he's one hundred percent right, she sneers up at him, unafraid, and stands on her tip toes. ''She is a grown woman,'' she says. ''You can't tell her how to love, or even who to love. That's up to her.''

''People die around the Winchesters, Ms. Braeden.''

''People die every day,'' she tosses back. ''And it's _Lisa._ Ms. Braeden is my uppity sister.''

''Oh,'' he scoffs and waves her off. ''You don't understand. You couldn't. Dean and Ruby love until they break each other. It consumes them. It eats them up. If this relationship continues, they will burn until there's nothing left. And I'll be left to pick up the pieces,'' he hisses. ''Again. I'm tired of duct taping my niece's heart back together because of Dean Winchester. That's not a healthy way to live.''

''No,'' she counters. ''It's the only way to live.'' She's not sure why she feels the need to defend Dean and Ruby's relationship for a second time, but she does. Maybe it's just because she doesn't like being wrong. In the back of her head, she knows exactly why she's defending it. Because it's everything she could ever want for herself. It's that desperate kind of love that everybody secretly wishes for. They have all the stolen kisses and the fiery eyes, the heated looks and explosions of passion. It's the kind of love people write songs about. Isn't that what everyone wants? A love that takes them over. A love that's raw. ''Newsflash,'' she spits out at Tall, Dark and Angry. ''That's what love is. That's what it's supposed to be. It's supposed to break you and tear at you. Love is ruin, Josef. That's the point. True love is destructive and magnificent and painful, and it is never ever supposed to be easy. You can't tell me you've never had at least a taste of that.''

He flinches. Touches his wedding ring.

She softens. ''Look,'' she sighs. ''It's natural for you to want to protect her. You love her. You want her to be safe. To never hurt. But being a parent means accepting your child for who they are and who they love. Even if it's hard. _Especially_ if it's hard.''

He crosses his arms. ''Even if I think she's making a huge mistake?''

She nods. ''Even then.''

He tilts his head to the side. ''You know,'' he drawls. ''I didn't expect you to be a defender of their relationship.''

She snorts. ''Neither did I. I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic. My bleeding heart gets me in trouble so many times.''

He smirks, eyes narrowing. ''You're not defending them because you're sweet as sugar, Lisa,'' he steps closer to her. ''You're doing it to prove you're better than the both of them.''

There's a brief gleam in her eyes and her lips curl into back into a smirk. She ducks her head, letting out a small huff of laughter. When she looks back up, he is staring at her once again. His jaw works silently for a moment, gears turning in his head. There's a brief flicker, a light in his eyes that wasn't there before. His lips twitch, like he wants to smile but can't quite remember how. He licks his lips instead. She squirms. ''What?''

''Nothing,'' he rushes to say. ''Just - All of a sudden, you remind me of my wife. She would've said the same thing.''

''Your wife was a very wise woman.''

He smiles. It's a little lopsided and sad, but it's a smile all the same. ''She was,'' he agrees quietly.

There is a moment of silence between them. A moment of understanding. She cannot say that they're in the same boat. Cannot say that their pain is the same, that she knows how he feels, or even that he knows how she feels. But they are both, at the moment, alone and when one is coping with loneliness themselves, it is incredibly easy to detect. Loneliness is like a beacon. It calls out to you. You can see it from outer space.

Josef sighs eventually and spins on his heel, gesturing for her to follow him. ''Come inside,'' he utters. ''I'll make us some coffee.''

.

.

.

And so they wait.

.

.

.

It feels like they've been waiting for hours. Ben is antsy and argumentative, brushing off his mother's attempts at comfort and wearing a hole in the living room floor from his pacing. Lisa, because she doesn't know what else she can possibly do, holes herself up in the kitchen with Josef. They drain a pot of coffee together and make idle chit chat, talking about their lives - about the weather, what's on TV, his wife, Ben, Ruby, the Winchesters. Josef is incredibly easy to talk to, as it turns out.

Well.

Either that or she's just so tired and loopy that her lips have loosened all the way. It's extraordinarily likely that could be what's happening.

They are just tucking into a second pot when the familiar rumble of Dean's car crunching on gravel echoes. It seems to bounce off of every wall. On the couch, half asleep, Ben startles and leaps to his feet. Lisa stands, suddenly feeling a strange dread gripping her insides in an ice like fist. Josef leans back against the counter, arms crossed, eyes blank.

None of them are prepared for the irreversibly broken versions of Dean and Sam that walk through that door. Sam and Bobby are the first ones inside. Sam is quiet and unresponsive, but shaking. Bobby looks terrified that his boys are going to fall, looking back and forth between the brothers. Dean comes in next, inviting with him shock and despair. It should be a relief to see him. To know that he's alive and he's okay. But it's not.

''Oh my god.'' Lisa squeaks in surprise, taking a step back in horror. Her hands go up to cover her mouth. ''Oh my god,'' she repeats. A lump as hard as a rock grows in her throat. Instinctively, she makes a beeline for her son, wrapping her arms around his shoulders like she's trying to protect him from the image of his father standing there, crushed and destroyed and covered in red.

There is blood coating Dean like paint. It's on his hands, it's crusting his shirt, his jeans, it's on his face. It is quite obviously not his blood, as he appears to look mostly fine, physically, albeit perhaps pale and maybe a little clammy. The bloodstains are, as gruesome as it may be, consistent with someone cradling a bloody body. Lisa panics, growing breathless, and surveys the survivors. She swallows tightly. No one else walks through the front door. Her shoulders slump and she holds Ben just a little tighter.

Oh.

There is a painful moment where complete silence is all there is. It coats every part of the room and nobody says a word, standing around awkwardly, shuffling their feet and looking pained.

''Oh my god,'' Lisa says again, trembling.

There's not even a question as to what happened. Everything instantly jumps to grief and pain. When Lisa looks down at Ben, there is an unimaginable guilt starting in his eyes. He wanted her out of the picture, but she doesn't think this is what he meant.

''No.'' Josef's voice from behind is tight and restrained, trying to keep everything inside. Lisa turns her gaze to him and instantly feels tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She doesn't think she has ever seen anybody look so completely destroyed before. ''No.'' Josef shakes his head. ''Not her.'' He takes a step toward Dean, pointing a shaking finger at him. ''You tell me it's not her.''

Dean doesn't even react. To be honest, Lisa isn't even sure if he's heard Josef.

She pulls Ben back. ''Ben, honey, maybe you should - ''

''Tell me it's not her, Dean!'' Josef roars. ''Tell me she's okay!''

Dean lifts his eyes to Josef, but doesn't say a word. He stares straight ahead, almost as if he doesn't understand the words being flung at him. His eyes are lifeless, devoid of any emotion and hollow. He isn't home anymore. Lisa presses her lips together. Part of her begins to believe that Dean might have died with Ruby. That's love, right? Raw and all consuming and life destroying.

''Whoa.'' Bobby steps in between Dean and Josef, into the shoes of the mediator, one hand reaching out to steady his boy, the other keeping Josef at bay. A little to the right, out of the line of fire, Sam is shaking terribly and rubbing at his temples, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. ''All right, let's all just - '' Bobby breaks off in a sharp intake of breath. He glances worriedly at Dean. ''Let's just breathe,'' he suggests. ''Okay? ...Okay, Dean?'' His tone of voice when talking to Dean is reminiscent of a parent talking to a small, scared child. Dean's jaw ticks and he blinks rapidly, staring down at his hands.

Lisa tries to breathe evenly and push the tears away. Regardless of anything, of everything, she is having an extremely hard time fighting the urge to rush to Dean's side and comfort him. She can't help it. She's a mother. It's an instinct. He looks so much like a lost little boy right now, confused and in so much pain. He reminds her of Ben.

''Josef,'' Bobby says softly, regretfully. ''This isn't on Dean. There were repercussions. To what she did to Crowley. She knew that. We didn't. This was _not_ Dean's fault. Do you understand me?'' His voice is quiet and apologetic, but firm and protective. He is still standing in front of Dean like a shield.

For a second, it seems like Josef might back down. He looks down and away, body beginning to crumple and sag in pain. They should all know better. When he snaps his head back, his eyes are black as tar and his face has twisted into the purest form of rage and grief. He darts forward, grips Bobby's jacket and throws the man into Sam. Path cleared, his lip curls back in a half smirk, half grimace and he lunges for Dean, blatantly ignoring Lisa's scream. It is a disturbing reminder that Josef, while easy to talk to and instinctively paternal, is not human.

Within the length of a single second, Josef has thrown Dean into a table, sending books and papers raining down on Sam and Bobby, and then he's practically on top of him, hands around Dean's neck, choking the life out of him. For a truly petrifying amount of time, Dean doesn't bother to fight back. His hands half heartedly claw at Josef's much stronger hands, but that honestly seems more like a muscle reaction that anything else.

Lisa rushes forward, but Josef bats her away like she's nothing, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Dean just kind of lies there, waiting to die, waiting to be with her again. It's the saddest thing you ever did see.

But then his eyes slide over, most likely to check on his brother, and he sees his son standing there all alone and terrified. Life lights up in Dean's eyes and the fire returns. His hand gropes around on the desk for something to use as a weapon, but all he manages to curl his fingers around is a small fountain pen. He makes it work. He swings his arm out blindly and drives the pen right through Josef's neck. Josef staggers back instantly, choking on blood and making a wet gasping noise. With a groan, Dean throws himself off the desk, landing hard on his hands and knees, coughing and spluttering. When he spots Sam and Bobby, both almost on their feet and ready to fight back, his eyes darken and he gives the table a hard shove, right into his brother, cutting off him and Josef from the rest of them.

Josef plucks the pen from his neck with an unsatisfied noise and throws it away.

Dean rises unsteadily to his feet. ''I'm sorry,'' his voice is a mere breath, sorrowful and guilty. ''I'm so sorry.''

Josef falters and stops in his tracks. He licks his lips. ''Not good enough,'' he growls, and throws Dean across the room like he weighs nothing. ''She is dead because of you!'' He spits out through his bloodied teeth. ''This is all because of you! I've lost everything!'' The fight is short, fairly one sided and massively unfair, because Josef is one majorly pissed off demon who is splintering apart at the seams. Dean does fight back, dodging punches and getting a few hits of his own in, but it's not enough to overpower Josef. It ends in the kitchen, with Dean down on his knees, staring up at Josef, and Josef gripping a knife, intent on butchering the Winchester at his feet. ''I should've done this a long time ago,'' he snarls.

And then...

A gust of wind.

Dean's eyes widen. ''Cas, no!''

Josef whirls around, meets Castiel's eyes, and is sent sailing through the air. The knife clatters harmlessly to the ground next to the crumpled heap of demon.

''Don't kill him,'' Dean pleads. ''She'd hate me.''

Castiel pinches his lips together and turns to stare down at Josef. ''Get up,'' he orders coldly.

Somewhat begrudgingly, Josef does.

''The only reason you are not dead is because Ruby was my friend,'' Castiel bites out. ''And she wouldn't want you dead.'' He takes a step closer and lowers his commanding, authoritative voice. ''She wouldn't want this, Mr. Casablancas. You know she wouldn't want this.''

Josef wipes the blood from his mouth, eyes glittering like diamonds. ''I think,'' he starts in a growl. ''That she would want to be alive. But she's not, is she? She's dead. And it's you!'' He points an accusing finger at Dean, but does not attempt to get past the wall of angel bodyguard in front of him. ''It's your fault! It's always your fault! How many times does she have to die for you? How much do you have to take away from my family? My niece is dead, my wife is dead, I have nothing left! Because of you and what you started!'' His lip curls back in disgust and he stares at Dean, looking him up and down, at every inch of him, like he's vermin. ''Why do you get to stay?'' He asks. It is the most broken he has ever sounded. Fragments and fractions of a man. ''Why do you and your family get to live?'' He shakes his head. ''They were better than you,'' he says, and his voice catches audibly. ''My girls were both better than _you_.''

Dean looks like he wants to agree wholeheartedly. He looks like he wants to drop to the ground and sob, beg for forgiveness, scream and cry. He looks completely defeated. But then he glances over at Ben again and manages to straighten himself up somewhat. ''What do you want me to do, Josef?'' He murmurs softly, calmly.

Josef can't answer that. He looks away. His intentions have been blown out the window, and he is left only with his hands and the blood on his throat. A wedding ring without a partner, an uncle without a niece, a man without a cause. ''Where is she now?''

The question throws Dean. He pales, if possible, even more. ''She's...'' He can't get the rest out.

''She's in the car,'' Bobby says in a low voice, barely loud enough for Lisa to catch.

There is a second, after those words have been spoken, where Lisa actually thinks Dean might dissolve right then and there. His hand twitches and he moves to scrub it over his face, but he comes to a screeching halt when he catches sight of all of the blood on his hands. He grimaces, shifting uncomfortably, sweat beading on his forehead lightly like he's going to be sick. He swallows it down instead and carefully moves to brush past Castiel, watching closely as Josef stalks out of the room and out of the house without another word to anyone else. The door slams behind him.

Castiel and Bobby flock toward Dean. Sam seems to be stuck in some sort of near catatonic state. ''Dean,'' Castiel says in that slow, measured voice of his. ''Are you all right?''

Quite abruptly, Dean snaps out of it. ''Oh yeah,'' he sneers. ''I'm fucking awesome.''

Castiel presses his lips together. ''I just meant - ''

''No, seriously. I'm peachy. Another one bites the dust, right? Story of my fucking life.'' He swings his battered and broken gaze to Lisa and Ben, full of psychotically overwhelming grief and guilt. ''In fact, you two should run while you still can. Before I get you both killed. 'Cause that's what I do. That's what this life does. You heard the man.''

Sam drops into a chair, rubbing at his eyes and scratching at his arms. He's uncharacteristically quiet, not bothering to say a word as he watches his brother break. It's strange. Unnerving. Usually, he'd be right up there with Dean, trying to calm his brother down, speaking in a soft, comforting voice. His knee jiggles. He stays still instead.

''Dean,'' Lisa moves forward, intending to hug him, but he moves away from her.

''Dean, this wasn't fault,'' Castiel says sternly. ''You need to know that. She knew what she was doing. She knew - ''

''You know what?'' Dean's voice is cold. ''Do you think we could possibly have this conversation sometime when I am not covered in my dead girlfriend's blood?'' All goes quiet. The pain is just radiating off of Dean. He sneers again, or at least tries to, his newfound quivering anger doing a truly terrible job of covering up his grief. ''Great, thanks.'' He balls his hands into fists and looks at the sullen, shocked and stricken faces in front of him. His eyes linger on Ben, dismayed and guilty, and then on Sam, who - aside from the trembling - looks like he has completely checked out. Something shifts in Dean's expression, into something Lisa recognizes instantly.

She spent a year with a broken Dean Winchester, remember? She knows what the worst kind of pain looks like on him. ''Dean,'' she keeps her voice soft but walks toward him steadily, wrapping her fingers around his wrist despite the dried blood staining his skin. ''Honey, you should go take a shower. Get all this blood off of you.''

Dean looks down at his hands as if he can't believe they're his own. ''Yeah.'' His mouth moves silently, but no words come out. ''Yeah, I...'' He looks up at Lisa, then at Sam and Ben, and finally to Bobby. The look in his eyes is a plea for guidance. Lisa tosses a glance over her shoulder at Bobby. The older man is staring silently at Dean with a mixture of reluctance, sympathy, and deep paternal comfort. He smiles sadly and briefly and gives a quiet nod. Dean blinks. ''I should.''

It takes both Bobby and Lisa to guide Dean towards the stairs, and even then he remains unsteady, clearly in some sort of shock. Lisa is having painful flashbacks to May of 2010. She has to stop herself at the foot of the stairs, allowing Bobby to take the reins, guiding Dean up the stairs with a hand on his shoulder. She watches from the bottom step as Dean gets farther and farther away from her. He leaves a bloodstain on the railing. She presses her lips together and tries not to cry, even though she has no idea why she wants to cry. It wasn't like she and Ruby were Monica and Rachel. It's just so unfair to all of these men. They all loved her so much. How much do they have to lose?

When she gets back to Ben and Sam, trying to muster up a few condolences to spout off to the increasingly unglued Sam, she is greeted by the sight of her frightened son and the sound of the back door slamming shut. Ben looks small in this light and so scared, guilt blooming in his eyes like tears. ''Baby,'' she takes a step.

''This is like before,'' he says. ''This is just like before.'' He looks worried, wringing his hands anxiously. ''Is he going to be okay?''

''Baby,'' she says again, and pulls him into her arms without another word. She doesn't know what to say anyway.

.

.

.

You would think he would be used to this by now. Throughout his admittedly very long life, he has lost every woman he has ever cared about. He lost his first wife, Mary, due to complications in childbirth. He lost his daughter, Alice, when he went to Hell. He lost Adele. Now he has lost Ruby. Again. One would think that, at some point, standing here with another body would hurt less. It doesn't. It still hurts just the same.

Fists clenched, breathing uneven, Josef stands out in the dirt, under the sun. All that is left of his niece is a body in a car. A body that the Winchesters will undoubtedly want to burn. He snarls at the thought. They will not be touching her ever again. He'll make sure of that. His anger toward Dean has lessened slightly, leaving behind a dull hiss of pain and simmering anger. He feels too shattered to be homicidal right now. His shoulders feel too heavy.

He doesn't understand. How could she do something so irresponsible? How could she just willingly let herself die like that? What was she thinking? How could she leave him all alone out here? He presses his lips into a thin, tight line. How pathetic. His beautiful girl has just died and all he can think about is how alone he feels? Yes, what a great man he is. Other than a few descendants of his daughter scattered around the US (a few in Texas, a couple in Nevada and North Carolina, a teenage girl who is the spitting image of Alice in small town Virginia, a man in Boston with his brother's smile, a young mother in California with Ruby's laugh and her piercing eyes) there is no one else, and it pains him to admit it but he is scared.

Loneliness is a weapon far sharper than any man made blade and far more dangerous than the most treacherous wilderness. It carries with it the worst pain a heart can endure.

Josef starts forward and then finds himself hesitating and inching away from the sleek black car that has become Ruby's casket. He does not particularly want to see the broken and bloody body of his kid, deprived of the life that had once shone so brightly in her eyes. He feels like he has had enough of lifeless bodies. He sighs.

But.

It's Ruby. That's his girl. It is still his duty to take care of her. Even in death. That's what family does. Josef takes a deep breath and steps forward.

''Mr. Casablancas.''

Josef spins around in the dirt and the dust and finds himself almost nose to nose with that annoying pest of an angel. His eyes darken and he crosses his arms defensively. ''What?''

The angel remains impassive. ''I want to express my condolences,'' he says simply. ''I'm very sorry for your loss.''

''Don't talk about my loss,'' Josef snaps back. ''You have no idea what I've lost.''

Castiel is unfazed. ''I apologize, but - ''

''Well, stop! Stop apologizing!''

''I need to take her.''

Josef's blood runs cold. He looks behind him at the car where the body lays, and then back at Castiel. ''Excuse me?'' He takes a threatening step in the direction of the emotionless angel, gravel crunching under his boots. Castiel is still calm and unimpressed. ''I'm sure I must have heard you wrong.''

Castiel shakes his head. ''I'm afraid not. I need to take your niece's body.''

''You're a sick, sick bastard,'' Josef hisses. His throat aches, his eyes sting, and his ears burn.

A small amount of something that could be considered a half hearted version of sympathy flashes over Castiel's face. ''I understand that this is a fragile time, that you're upset, but this is important.''

''Go fuck yourself.''

Castiel heaves a sigh and carefully produces an envelope from the inside pocket of his trench coat. ''She wanted me to give you this.''

Josef reluctantly takes the slightly wrinkled envelope. His name is written on it in neat, familiar handwriting. The 'f' is smudged lightly, as if by a teardrop. There is a sudden lump in his throat that he cannot swallow. ''What is this?''

''An explanation.''

With a horrific roaring in his ears, it all clicks for Josef. The last piece in an ugly puzzle of bloodshed falls into place. ''It was you,'' he rasps. ''You were the one who...'' It is white hot; the feeling of rage that begins to spread within him. It is a white hot fury that turns his heart into ash and burns away the wall of humanity that is keeping every single demonic, animalistic impulse at bay. Josef has never really been much for control. That was always Adele's specialty. He may give off an air of impeccable control, but deep down, he is just as much an animal as any other demon. He clenches the envelope in his fist. ''You were the one who helped her commit suicide,'' he growls. He darts forward before Castiel can disagree and grasps the lapels of that stupid fucking trench coat. ''You did this to her!'' He turns the angel around and shoves him back up against Winchester's car. ''You took her away from me! You gave her the means to destroy herself!''

''I did what she asked of me,'' Castiel responds. ''She asked me to help her. I did.''

''What makes you think you had the right to do that? I swear to God - ''

An honest and true expression flitters on Castiel's face. It is not a happy expression. ''What makes you think you have the right to swear to God?'' With a disturbing amount of ease, Castiel peels Josef's fingers away from him and twists the wrist until the demon grimaces in pain. He licks his lips and then throws Josef away like he's nothing.

Josef flies far, landing hard and noisily on top of a different rust bucket. The metal bends and caves in under his weight and pain flares up instantly, shooting up and down his entire body. A pained groan escapes his lips involuntarily but the pain is not as strong as the anger boiling inside of him. He rolls off the car and lands hard on his hands and knees, sharp gravel cutting through his palms and tearing his jeans. When he rises to his feet, Castiel is right in front of him. Josef throws a sloppy punch, but it is caught easily. Castiel gives him a shove, just a minor shove, but it sends Josef up into the air and then down hard on his stomach. Gravel cuts through his cheek and dirt gets in his mouth.

Castiel releases a breath and crouches down beside the heap of a demon. ''I'm sorry, Mr. Casablancas,'' he says again. Again with the apologies, the meaningless condolences, like they're good enough, like they make up for what he's done. ''We are of rival species,'' the angel continues. ''We are not meant to have our lives intertwine the way they do, and so I understand your distrust. Your wariness. But your niece... She was a good woman. A brave woman. Now, I don't want to hurt you, but make no mistake: I will if I have to. Let me rephrase my earlier statement: I am going to take her, whether you like it or not, and you are going to read that letter. Just as soon as you wake up.''

Before Josef can say anything at all, two cold fingers are pressed to his forehead and all goes dark.

.

.

.

_''God, I fucking hate those geeky little bastards.''_

_It is a statement growled out against the soft lips attacking his. Perhaps not the most opportune time to bring that up. There are legs wrapped around his waist and there is a naked chick pressed into him. Maybe he could have chosen a better time to bring up the Ghostfacers._

_She lets out a breath and pulls away from him, arching a perfect eyebrow. ''Ugh.'' She crawls away from him with a roll of her eyes, sending a sharp swat to his abdomen, flopping down on the bed, sheets up to her chest. She lies down on her side, head propped up in her hand. ''Dean, are you fucking serious right now? We just had sex and you want to talk about some gangly losers with video cameras who pee their pants when they see real ghosts?''_

_''Well, they bugged me,'' he argues._

_She scoffs and slips out of bed, sheet wrapped around her. ''You bug me,'' she grumbles._

_''Oh,'' he rolls his eyes, watching her snatch up her hastily discarded clothes. ''For Christ's sake. You leavin' again?''_

_She shrugs and wriggles into her jeans, still searching for her shirt. ''Don't I always?''_

_''Exactly my point.''_

_She turns her head, lips curving into a slow smirk. Her eyes glitter in that predatory way of hers and she licks her lips. He has to swallow. With her messy sex hair and that intoxicating post coital glow about her, he doesn't think she has ever looked more beautiful than she does right now. Not sexy. Not fuckin' hot. Beautiful. It's strange to think of her as beautiful, he thinks. It bothers him. She's a demon. A good fuck, a warm body, but that's it. That's supposed to be it. But then he looks at her again, at the spark in her eyes and the smile on her lips and he lets it go. He thinks she's attractive. It's not like he's in love with her or anything._

_''Thought you didn't give a crap what I do,'' she purrs._

_''I don't,'' he says quickly, maybe a little too quickly. ''You can do whatever the hell you want. I'm just sayin'...'' He trails off and pauses. What he is just saying? He shrugs off the awkwardness and catches hold of her wrist just after she has pulled her shirt over her head. He tugs her down onto his lap effortlessly and brushes hair away to nip at her neck. ''One more time,'' he says, pleads._

_She sighs again, a heavier sigh this time, and shoots him a look. ''How many times are we going to say that, Winchester?''_

_He freezes up. ''I don't - ''_

_She presses her lips against his in a hungry kiss. ''With us, Dean,'' she whispers, after she has pulled away. ''It's never one more time. We have addictive personalities.''_

_He stares up at her, unblinking, and tries not to think too much. Finally, he wraps his arms around her waist and throws her back down onto the bed. She lets out a screech of laughter but doesn't fight back, and when he hovers over top of her, noses almost touching, she remains still. Her fingertips graze his cheek. ''If that's the case,'' he begins, ''then we better get our jollies out now. 'Cause I'm checkin' out in a few months, darlin' and you're gonna have to take your addictive personality elsewhere.''_

_She laughs. ''And that's kind of sad, don't you think? That it takes one of us dying just to get us to stop fucking? Is that pathetic?''_

_''If it is,'' he shrugs. ''I've decided I'm cool with it,'' and then he covers her mouth with his own. ''By the way,'' he breathes out against her lips. ''You need to get naked ASAP, because these clothes of yours are really gettin' in the way.''_

.

.

.

Dean steps closer to the bathroom mirror, eyeing his pale, sickly reflection. His fingers grip the white sink so tight his fingers go numb. He doesn't mind. He welcomes the numbness that is slowly beginning to spread throughout the rest of him. This would be shock. What he's feeling right now, what he's not. It's shock. It's breaking him. The jumbled, erratic thoughts in his head have come to an abrupt stop, as if a machine somewhere has been jammed and there is only one clear thing reverberating through all that he is.

He loves her, and she is gone. Just like every other person he has dared to touch, to love.

His reflection moves, a sudden jerk, and he looks up suddenly. His reflection is smirking at him, a cruel and taunting sneer. Dean startles and staggers back a step, lips parting in shock. His reflection gives a hearty laugh and smiles wolfishly, showing off his teeth. ''Here we are again, Dean,'' the man in the mirror says. ''Aren't you tired of feeling this way?''

Dean's heart is in his throat. He tries to look away, but he can't. He is not sure how to fight against himself.

His reflection steps closer, nearly pressed up against the glass. Dean is trying to snap out of this. It's not real. It can't be. His mind is playing tricks on him. That's all. ''You do this a lot, don't you?'' The reflection asks. ''Get the people you love killed?''

''I...'' His voice comes out a weak rasp and he can't manage to get anything else out past the lump in his throat.

The jovial smile fades and his reflection ignites in fury. ''This is your fault, you know,'' he - _it_ \- hisses. ''Everything is always your fault. She is dead because of you.'' He shakes his head and clicks his tongue, lips curving up. ''Why are you even still here? You should've let Josef - ''

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and the sound of his own cruel voice gets lost somewhere in the roaring in his ears and the pounding of his heart. When he opens his eyes, he is left staring at his sad self, no longer angry and full of blame. He looks down at his hands and all of the blood. He sighs.

He moves slowly, peeling off layers of bloody and sweaty and dirty clothing and stepping under the hot spray in the shower. His body feels old all of a sudden. He stays in the shower until the water runs cold. He watches the blood swirl down the drain with morbid fascination, watching the last traces of Ruby wash away. He makes a feeble attempt to jump start his brain and feel something, but shock doesn't work that way. It's like a wall. He could cut his finger open right now and he wouldn't feel a thing. He showers and dresses in clean, blood free clothes on autopilot, moving like a robot.

It is only after he has pulled on a pair of ripped jeans and a gray t-shirt that something small is able to filter into his mind. It seems so unfathomable. It doesn't make sense. How can she be gone just like that? It's not fair. It's not right. They never even... He sinks onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. They should have had a better chance. They should have had a life together. After everything they've been through, both together and apart, don't they at least deserve that? He laughs suddenly, a bitter cackle. ''Well, sweetheart,'' he rasps to the empty room and the ghosts over his shoulder. ''I guess we were doomed from the start, weren't we?''

.

.

.

Dean Winchester has only one default setting. That default setting is Sam. More specifically, it's taking care of Sam. He may not be able to take care of himself, but at least he can take care of Sam. It's where he goes when he doesn't know what else to do. Right now, Dean wants to do anything but feel his own emotions. He can't think about Ruby, about Crowley, about the sorrow and rage bubbling in his gut. He doesn't want to. So, coddling his brother is the next logical step. It's what he's good at. Sam is grieving and more than likely, he's probably extremely blubbery, so Dean's gonna find him and he's going to do what he does best.

He sprints back down the stairs, free of blood but still feeling it everywhere on him, and looks around for Sam. He finds Lisa in the kitchen. She tries to comfort him and put him back together like he's fucking Humpty Dumpty. She tries to sew him back together with that ever present needle and thread of hers that exists in her kind and gentle smile, but he shoots her down this time. There's no Sam and no Bobby, but there's Ben. The boy is sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, looking lost and lonely. When he looks up and spots his dad, his eyes widen and he looks like a deer in headlights. ''Dad,'' he croaks out.

Dean accepts the hug Ben gives him and tries to say that he's fine - or at least that he will be - but he can't get the words out. He's not sure Ben would believe him anyway. He holds onto his son for a moment, and tries to take that one moment to stop thinking about Ruby. It doesn't work, of course, and the warm embrace is only serving to push against the walls of the dam, so he pulls away and asks if Ben has seen Sam. Ben tells him that Sam stormed outside, but eventually came back inside and stalked upstairs.

A strange and inexplicable fear starts low in his belly. He takes the stairs two at a time, calling out Sam's name. In the back of his mind, something clicks. ''Sam!'' There aren't a lot of rooms in Bobby's house, certainly not ones that are in working order. There is one guest bedroom, Bobby's bedroom and two others that are full of dusty old furniture, even dustier and older books, and things that must have belonged to Karen. There aren't a lot of hiding places. But the best place to hide, the one they always used to utilize when they were kids, is Bobby's bedroom. Mostly because it's _Bobby's_ bedroom and nobody goes into Bobby's bedroom without his permission unless they're cruisin' for a bruisin'. When Sammy was a kid, he used to hide in there, under the bed, simply because he knew no one would have dared to go in there. ''Sam!'' The fear and the terrible feeling in his gut gets worse with every step he takes.

Dean bursts into Bobby's bedroom, practically falling into the room, and he swears his heart stops.

His brother is slumped against the wall with his eyes closed. ''Sam.'' Dean rushes forwards and falls to his knees in front of his too still brother. ''Sam!'' He reaches out to grab Sam's face. Shaking him gets nothing, and Sam remains still. ''Sam! Come on, man, don't do this to me.'' Dean slaps Sam's cheek lightly and when he still remains unresponsive, Dean fumbles for a pulse. Sam makes a noise but doesn't wake. ''Oh, god.'' Dean lets out a breath. ''Sammy... Jesus Christ...'' Sam's pulse is erratic, but there, and Dean is in full on tunnel vision mode.

Out of Sam's curled fist, Dean pries an orange bottle of painkillers and he feels bile creeping up in his throat.

''Oh, Jesus.'' He curls his fingers around Sam's shirt. ''Sam! Sammy, come on, kiddo, stay with me.''

In response, Sam makes another odd breathy noise.

The bottle is empty.

.

.

.

There is no way to make this story anything other than what it is.

Pain and destruction and carnage. Missed opportunities and raw grief, pleasure and greed, sex and death, medication and isolation and folly. This is life, sweetheart. This is what you are. We are animals and this is our cage. These are the things that love is made of, and this...

...this is love.

.

.

.

_''You had a bottle of pills but I wouldn't let you swallow them.  
_ _You said Will you love me even more when I'm dead?  
_ _and I said No, and I threw the pills on the sand.''_   
**\- I had a dream about you**

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognize or any of the Richard Siken poetry featured in this story. His poetry was actually the inspiration for this fic and lines from his poems will be present at both the beginning and ends of the chapters.


End file.
